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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29996214">forever is in your eyes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_are_the_same/pseuds/we_are_the_same'>we_are_the_same</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (fandom)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Chaptered, Character Development, Complete, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ethical Dilemmas, Fluff, Harry Styles is a sculpture, Inspired by Pygmalion and Galatea (Ancient Greek Religion &amp; Lore), Louis Tomlinson is Protective of Harry Styles, M/M, Minor Zayn Malik/Liam Payne, Moral Dilemmas, Mythology References, No Smut, Oblivious Louis Tomlinson, Oracles, POV Louis Tomlinson, Pining, Rabbits, Sculptor Louis, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Traveling, Wordcount: Over 100.000, Zayn Malik &amp; Louis Tomlinson Friendship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-04-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:13:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>125,910</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29996214</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_are_the_same/pseuds/we_are_the_same</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry looks fragile in the moonlight, and Louis stands there, pondering, not even sure what it is that he’s thinking of. It’s all just noise in his head, a mix of melancholy and desire, of longing for something that he doesn’t even have a name for.</p><p>He wants-</p><p>He wants love. He wants to be held and cherished and have a home. Not just a place to lay his head down at night. He wants to be loved the way that Louis had loved creating Harry. He wants his perfect man, but he wants him to be <em>real</em>. He wants <em>Harry </em>to be real-</p><p>His lips press against marble, against something cold and unforgiving, and it’s not until his hand comes up to rest against a sculpted neck that his eyes fly open and he stumbles backwards, nearly falling off the stepladder that he’d stood on.</p><p>“Jesus Christ.” He whispers, shaking his head and resisting the urge to brush the back of his hand against his lips, erase evidence that isn’t even visible to the naked eye. Harry stands there, as though nothing’s changed, and of course he does, because he’s a statue.</p><p>A statue that Louis has just <em>kissed</em>.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik &amp; Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>186</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>One Direction Big Bang Round 4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Ooof this was a labor of love. Originally, this fic started out as a collaboration with Caroline, something we enthused about with Pam but that never got beyond the first few thousand words. Eventually, about two years later, I decided to pick it back up, and write this for my first ever Big Bang. By December I had written 20k and I hated everything about it. So I decided to start from scratch. Two and a half months later, this fic that I once feared wouldn't even make the 25k minimum ended up well over 120k. </p><p>And then came the dreaded editing. I realized that I'd completely messed up certain plotlines (sprinting is amazing but it's also made me forget to edit in between like I usually do), but with the help of some amazing people, I got back on track, and finally feel ready to share this story with you all. </p><p>Before I get into thanking everyone who has helped me, I first want to express my sincere thanks to the wonderful <a href="https://fallinglikethis.tumblr.com/">Tabby</a> who has created the art for this fic! I loved working with you and I'm so happy that you chose my fic! It's been so much fun seeing my words come to life in your art!</p><p>Now, on with the thank you's to the wonderful people without whom this fic wouldn't exist or definitely wouldn't have been what it is now:</p><p>First of, a massive thank you to Caroline and Pam; even though we don't talk as much anymore, this story wouldn't have been written if it weren't for you two. I cherish you forever. Thanks for the sweet words and the inspiration.</p><p>As always, thank you to my friend, supporter and invaluable brainstorm buddy <a href="https://lightwoodsmagic.tumblr.com/">Sarah</a>. I can't tell you how much it means to me that you've always been there when I needed help and was stressing out about the outline.</p><p>Thank you also to the wonderful <a href="foullovehideout.tumblr.com">Sixt</a> who I picked from the supporter list, and boy did I strike gold! You truly have gone above and beyond and this fic wouldn't be the way it is without you. You are an amazing person, wonderful beta, and I am so glad that we met!</p><p>To the F to my E, the one who always kills me first in Among Us and who I spent many sprints with, <a href="https://evilovesyou.tumblr.com/">Evi</a>, thank you for existing and choosing to be a part of my life. Coming out of this big bang with you as my friend is even more important to me than finally finishing this fic. I adore you!</p><p>Finally, thank you to the wonderful mods for this fest! I appreciate how you've set everything up and made sure that things ran smoothly. Thank you for setting up the Discord, and thanks to everyone in that Discord who has kept me company and who has kept me going!</p><p>To everyone who reads this, I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for giving this fic a chance!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Louis is happy for his friends. Really. He’s elated. Zayn and Liam are two of his best mates and they deserve every bit of sweet happiness that they can get. To be here, at their engagement party, to witness the pure and humble love they have for one another - how can he not be happy?</p>
<p>It’s just… Louis wants that. He wishes it was his turn. He’s in his mid twenties and he’s done the whole casual dating thing, he’s done the friends with benefits and the one night stands, and yes, he’s had a few relationships, but he’s not had what Liam and Zayn have and he <em>wants</em> it. </p>
<p>Zayn is beautiful on the worst of days, but right now, in the middle of a bar, surrounded by people who care about him, he’s radiant, the absolute centre of everyone’s attention and rightfully so. He’s only got eyes for one man though, a man who Louis, in all his years of knowing him, has never seen smile quite like he is doing right now. He’s more crinkle than eyes, and he looks like he couldn’t stop smiling if his life depended on it.</p>
<p>It’s sweet. </p>
<p>And Louis really shouldn’t feel so bitter.</p>
<p>Because tonight isn’t about him. And he’s trying his best to push down the feeling of discontentment, has thrown himself into the activities with his usual vigor, giving a pretty amazing first toast if he does say so himself. </p>
<p>Not that that was hard. He’s known Zayn since they were practically in diapers, spent most of his life with him. He’d grown up while watching Zayn do the same, navigating through awkward teen years and first crushes together. And he was there when Zayn fell in love with Liam. He’d seen all of it firsthand. The pining, the starry eyes, the first kiss. Literally, in the last case, because Zayn had been too much of a chicken to go on a first date without his best mate tagging along. </p>
<p>(Louis is saving <em>that</em> particular anecdote for the wedding speech.)</p>
<p>But with the first toast done, and the happy couple in the spotlight, Louis finds himself in a booth, watching all the other attending couples and wishing that he could be one of them. Wishing that he wasn’t so alone. </p>
<p>It doesn’t help that he was supposed to bring a plus one, but his sort-of-boyfriend Ian has recently become his definitely-ex-boyfriend Ian, and while Louis doesn’t miss him, part of him does wish that he was here, if only to distract him from his thoughts.</p>
<p>Well, that, and the rather insistent acquaintance of Liam that has been trying to talk to Louis all evening. Louis doesn’t mind talking, he just minds the innuendo that every word is laced with, the way that the guy’s eyes are all over him in a way that honestly makes him feel almost violated. Louis feels his muscles tense more and more as their conversation progresses, subconsciously waiting for the moment that it’s going to be hands rather than eyes that are all over him. He finds himself wishing that he hadn’t sat near the wall because with the guy - whose name Louis can't remember and would like to never have to learn thank you - next to him and the table in front of him there’s really no escape.</p>
<p>What’s his name is leaning far too close for comfort, whispering something in Louis’ ear about how good his toast was, and Louis debates if he can get away with throwing a drink in his face. He’s not going to risk it though. The guy has at least a head of height on him, and Louis doesn’t know him well enough to know how he’d react to rejection. He briefly wonders if he can politely excuse himself, imply that he needs to use the bathroom, but he isn’t sure that it won’t come across as an invitation, and he <em>really</em> does not need his dick groped right now. </p>
<p>So instead he just says “thanks” and leans as far away from him as he can, only barely managing not to flinch when a hand comes to rest on his thigh. </p>
<p>Louis has never been good at holding his tongue, but he knows that he needs to de-escalate the situation, and <em>fast</em>. He might be feeling alone, but he’d rather be alone than be with someone who doesn’t even pick up on the most basic clues, or worse, picks up on them but chooses to ignore them. That’s a red flag if Louis has ever seen one, and God, he really needs to have a talk with Liam about the sort of people he’s friends with. </p>
<p>Thankfully, he’s only two beers in, and his quick wit doesn’t fail him.</p>
<p>He hopes.</p>
<p>He shifts to lean forward, sudden enough that the glass eyed look on the guy’s face turns into surprise for a moment now that Louis is in his space. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Louis murmurs, biting down delicately on his bottom lip and hearing a sharp intake of breath in response. He bites down on a smirk, and just leans in more. “This?” He gestures towards Zayn and Liam, who are slow dancing in the middle of a crowd, foreheads pressed together and so lost in each other that they might as well be the only two people in the world. “Them, I mean. <em>Love</em>. It’s beautiful.”</p>
<p>A small frown is starting to form on the guy’s face, but Louis doesn’t give him the chance to reply. “I want that,” he says, and he makes his hand unclench from his thigh, makes it move towards the guy, giving his bicep a gentle stroke even when it makes his stomach churn. “Don’t you? I’m so over the whole casual sex things. I want what they have. Marriage. Babies. The lot.” </p>
<p>He glances up at the guy through his lashes, coy smile on his face, and he reckons that he must know by now that Louis is only doing this to get rid of him, but for a moment or so the guy actually seems to consider it, and Louis feels forced to drive the knife just that little bit deeper. “Liam would just love that, you know. Knowing that two of his mates” (he’s using the term loosely here, at least when it comes to this guy whose name he’s still not remembering) “got together at his engagement party? He’d probably end up planning our wedding right along with his own.” He gives him a saccharine sweet smile, flutters his eyelashes in a move that has brought many a man to his knees. “So, a date then, yeah? I’m free tomorrow, if you’d like to pick me up.”</p>
<p>The hand on his thigh has disappeared somewhere between the mention of babies and the comment about a joint wedding, and instead of a glassy eyed look the expression on the guy’s - Louis thinks his name might possibly be Brad - face now most closely resembles a deer in the headlights. “I, uh,” he starts, and it’s clear that he’s trying to come up with an excuse to leave. Louis tries his hardest not to laugh, just keeps looking at him with an almost starstruck gaze. “I’ll be right back. Gotta use the um-” </p>
<p>“Bathroom,” Louis supplies helpfully, and Possibly-Brad nods, nearly trips over his feet in his haste to get away from Louis. </p>
<p>“I’ll be right back.” Maybe-Brad says, even though the whole world knows that that’s a lie. Louis still nods.</p>
<p>“Of course. I’ll be here.” </p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>Potentially-Brad doesn’t come back. Louis had known that he wouldn’t, and he’s relieved that he isn’t, but he still can’t help it; that nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach.</p>
<p>Because he wasn’t really <em>lying</em>, earlier. He does want what he told Perhaps-Brad he wanted. Not with him, obviously, but the whole prospect of getting married and having a family? He thinks part of him has wanted that since he was young enough to understand what marriage meant. He wouldn’t have come on that strong if he’d meant it, if he was really into someone, but still-</p>
<p>Is it so strange, to want that kind of thing?</p>
<p>Is he that unlovable, that someone won’t even try?</p>
<p>Presumably-Brad is somewhere on the other side of the room, pretending that Louis can’t see him, trying to chat up someone else, and it’s just - Louis is <em>tired</em>.</p>
<p>He’s tired of being replaceable. Of just being someone to fuck, or show off. He’s tired of putting himself out there only to get his heart broken. </p>
<p>And the worst thing is that he doesn’t. Get his heart broken. Because he doesn’t get that far anymore, these days. He’s had his fingers burned so many times that he’s become careful. He’s willing to test the waters, sure, but he can’t remember the last time he’s fallen in love. He’s not sure he’s ever been in love in the way that Liam and Zayn are if he’s honest. He’s never met someone that he could see himself with, has never felt that spark that would lead to getting engaged when he’s barely out of college.</p>
<p>Okay, it’s been a few years since they’ve all graduated, but still. They’re young. They’re young and Liam and Zayn are so sure that they want to spend the rest of their lives together, and Louis wants that. He wants someone to be that sure about him, to want to marry him.</p>
<p>He wants to be someone’s everything, and he wants to have someone be his everything in return. </p>
<p>Casual dating just doesn’t cut it anymore. A lot of guys in their twenties are still trying to find themselves, Louis knows, but there have to be some that are ready to settle down. And it’s not like Louis is an awful prospect. </p>
<p>He’s not the neatest, no, and he’s not the greatest cook. But he’s willing to compromise, and learn. And he’s got plenty of good qualities. He’s got a good degree, his own place, he’s stable. He’s got a lovely family, wonderful friends, his life is rich enough that he doesn’t need someone else to complete him. But there’s enough space, in his life and in his heart, that he can make room for that one perfect person. For a family, one day.</p>
<p>Everyone around him cheers, to signal the end of another toast, and Louis absently raises his glass, finds himself swallowing down lukewarm beer that has gone flat. He tries not to take that as symbolic for the way that his mood has shifted over the course of the evening, but the irony doesn't escape him.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>It’s not much later that he decides to dip out, finding that the effort of pretending to be happy is too much for the late hour. He figures that everyone else will be too busy to pay attention and he can slip out unnoticed, maybe send Zayn a text later to let him know he’d left, but he’s barely made his way outside when his name is called in a soft voice.</p>
<p>He turns around to find Zayn has bowed out from the crowd too, is now leaning against the wall with a cigarette in his hand and a soft but slightly worried smile on his face. Louis pushes his hands in his pockets and heads towards him, ends up leaning next to him against the wall. “Alright?” He asks, and Zayn nods, exhales the smoke and watches it drift off for a moment. </p>
<p>“Busy.” He says, and Louis just hums in understanding. Zayn’s never been a fan of crowds, and Louis would’ve usually been the one to lead him outside, but he’s been too caught up in his own head to notice. There’s a part of him that wants to apologize, but he knows Zayn won’t require one, and he’s not sure he wants to explain why he’s been so preoccupied this evening. Because Zayn’s happy and Louis is not about to piss all over that. </p>
<p>“You look happy.” He says instead, and Zayn’s smile softens.</p>
<p>“I am.” He gives Louis a look. “You’re not.”</p>
<p>Louis would feel called out if anyone else had said it, but Zayn’s tone is devoid of any judgment. He still feels a little bit near tears, but thankfully Zayn chooses that moment to pass him the cigarette and Louis gets to pretend that his eyes are watering from the smoke instead. He takes a drag, letting smoke sit in his lungs for a moment before blowing it out with a sigh. “It’s been a long - I don’t even know, exactly. Week, month, year. Existence.”</p>
<p>Zayn nods, like that makes perfect sense. “Get some rest,” he says, and the fact that Zayn understands without Louis needing to explain anything to him makes him feel so incredibly grateful. He’s not sure what he did to deserve a friend like Zayn, but he will get on his knees and thank every deity in existence for allowing him to be in Zayn’s life. “Do you need me to call you a cab?”</p>
<p>Louis doesn’t even pretend that he wasn’t going to leave. He just gently bumps his shoulder against Zayn’s. “I think there’s one or two around the corner,” he says, and Zayn just hums. “Don’t worry about me. Tonight’s supposed to be your night.”</p>
<p>Zayn’s smile is gentle, and Louis feels privileged to have a best mate like that, who worries about him even at his own engagement party. Who loves him, maybe not in the exact way that Louis yearns to be loved, but who gives his love freely and without demanding anything in return. </p>
<p>“I might work on the new commission I got,” he tells him, and it’s half to assure Zayn that he’s okay, <em>really</em>, and half because he usually produces his best work when he’s filled with this specific type of melancholia. If he’s going to be sad he might as well make use of it.</p>
<p>And he’s sort of excited about the commission, if he’s honest. Which soon becomes clear to Zayn, when he barely gets to ask him what he’s doing before Louis launches into the explanation, his body becoming more animated as he talks.</p>
<p>He loves what he does, is the thing. He loves sculpting. </p>
<p>His classmates in college, as well as his professors, had been shocked when he’d chosen to sculpt marble, because marble was hard and unforgiving. And yes, Louis has hated it sometimes, when he’d worked so hard on a bust only to have it fall apart in his hands at an unsuspected crack, but it has been the only medium for him for years now. He’s good at it, in a way that even he hadn’t expected to be when he started out, and there is nothing like the rush of a finished piece.</p>
<p>His absolute favorite pieces to sculpt are ones that have to do with Mythology - as he’d ended up majoring in Mythology in Art in college, after becoming smitten with the subject during an introductory course. A few years into working as a professional, he’s made a bit of a name for himself, and he’ll get the occasional call to do a piece based on a specific myth. </p>
<p>It’s what had happened this afternoon. An elderly woman had called, someone who hadn’t worked with him before but who had heard about him from a friend of a friend. She’d wanted something based on the Pygmalion myth, specifically, a nude male form of Galatea. </p>
<p>Louis had asked her about the specifics of her perfect man, pen already poised to write down specifics that he would try his best to coax out of the marble, but she’d surprised him, telling him she’d like him to create <em>his</em> perfect man instead. According to her it’d allow for the most ‘sincere emotion’ in the piece, and while Louis had privately rolled his eyes he’d been happy to accept, the few eccentricities of the rich no measure for the amount of money that he’d receive upon completing his sculpture. Besides, he had to admit to himself, it kind of sounded like fun. He liked commissions where he got to have a bit of liberty, the chance to really dig in and create something that he’s excited about. </p>
<p>He’d already been halfway dressed and ready to head out to the bar to celebrate Zayn and Liam’s engagement when she’d called, but now that he’s about ready to go home he figures he might as well make good on his promise to get started as soon as possible.</p>
<p>Zayn, who’d simply smiled at his excited explanation of his new job, pins him down with a look once Louis finishes talking. It’s one that Louis knows all too well, and he is shaking his head even before Zayn has uttered a weary “Lou-”</p>
<p>“I know,” he interrupts, waving his hand dismissively, taking a final drag of a cigarette that’s all but burnt up uselessly in between his fingers. “Make sure to eat. Check in at least once a day. Go to bed on time. I’ll be alright, you know. You shouldn’t worry so much.”</p>
<p>He knows Zayn has a point though. As an artist himself, albeit in a different medium, Zayn knows all too well how easy it is to get lost in a piece. Louis knows that he has a tendency to isolate himself, to work on a sculpture until he feels like he doesn’t even know who he is anymore, like he’s put too much of himself into the marble and doesn’t have anything left inside. It was easier when he lived with Zayn, who would coax him out of his studio and make him eat a sandwich. In return, Louis would do the same for him when he’d find Zayn in his bedroom, paint in his hair and on his skin, putting the finishing touches on a painting. But Zayn is living with Liam now, and Louis knows he worries if he doesn’t keep in touch.</p>
<p>“Promise me,” Zayn asks, a gentle hand on his shoulder, and Louis can’t resist the urge to rest his cheek against it for a moment.</p>
<p>“I promise,” he says, and he watches Zayn relax, feels that rush of warmth and fondness all over again. </p>
<p>The door to the bar opens rather suddenly, the sound of music and laughter spilling out from inside. Louis watches as Liam’s head pokes out, sees his face brighten into a grin at the sight of his fiancé. Taking that as his cue to leave, he pushes himself off the wall, offering Zayn a hug. It’s absent, the way Zayn hugs him back, and Louis snorts, presses a kiss to his cheek. He knows from experience that no matter how much Zayn tries to pay attention to people, all bets are off once Liam is around. The way they gravitate towards each other is endearing, even if it reminds Louis once more of what he’s missing out on.</p>
<p>He manages to keep a smile on his face all the way until he’s made it into the cab and has given the driver his address. </p>
<p>As he leans back against faux leather, trying hard not to notice the sticky parts of the interior, he closes his eyes, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose to stave off an impending headache.</p>
<p>All the way home, he pointedly ignores the gaping hole in his heart.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The flat is cold and dark when he gets home. Devoid of any life, because even though Zayn had suggested months ago that Louis should adopt a pet of some kind, Louis hasn’t found the time to do so. In truth, he isn’t actually sure that he wants a pet, or rather if it’s fair to adopt one when he’s in his studio more often than not, ignoring the rest of the world. </p><p>It’d be nice to talk to something, but then, Louis has his busts. His sculptures, that he’s named and that he talks to, but only when people aren’t around because he’s not sure they would understand that sometimes the loneliness just gets a little bit too much.</p><p>He flips on the lights throughout the flat, heading into his bedroom to change after putting on the kettle for a cup of tea. There are paintings and band posters on his wall, Zayn’s work hanging amiably next to musicians that have shaped Louis’ life. Most of Louis’ own works are in his studio, which once upon a time used to be Zayn’s bedroom, but there’s a few smaller pieces scattered throughout the flat.</p><p>It’s homey, and Louis is content. Usually. He’s got his art, his own space, he’s got the TV that he can turn on when the silence becomes too much to bear. Zayn truly worries too much.</p><p>With some joggers and a t-shirt on, a fresh cup of tea in hand and some music turned down low as to not wake the neighbours, Louis heads into his studio, finding that inspiration usually strikes him when he’s surrounded by proof of his ability. It’s why there’s a beanbag in the corner, that he drops himself into now with a sketchpad and a pencil, his cup of tea by his toes on the floor.</p><p>He’s not sure where to start, he realizes, when he's stared at a blank piece of paper for a good ten minutes. Creating his perfect man isn’t as easy as simply finding the right piece of marble, one that’s freshly quarried and has the finest grains. It’s not just finding a piece that is begging to be worked on. </p><p>When it comes to picking out the <em>perfect </em>piece, it’s all about what's on the inside. Louis can’t fully explain it, but he knows. When he goes to the quarry to pick out his pieces, he knows. All he has to do is rest his hand on the stone, and he can tell exactly what type of sculpture is hidden inside. </p><p>The specific features though, those are up to Louis. They separate a simple sculpture of a male form from Louis’ perfect man. They’re what makes it <em>his</em> work, work that is easily distinguishable, according to a few of his former Professors.</p><p>The thing is, Louis isn’t sure what his perfect man would be like. At least, not what he would <em>look</em> like. He knows what he wants in a man. He wants someone interesting. Someone with a kind heart, with a soul that’s infused with love. He wants someone that will accept him, and his flaws. Who loves to cuddle, wants to take care of him and will let Louis take care of him in return. A partner. Someone equal, to navigate through life with. He wants joy and laughter and weathering storms together. </p><p>But none of that matters in marble. None of it translates to features that he can sculpt.</p><p>He supposes he could create strong arms. A gentle smile. </p><p>Dimples.</p><p>The pencil moves across the page, as he allows himself to sink further into the thought of his perfect man. It comes to him easily then. </p><p>Brown curly hair. Green eyes. It won’t translate into marble but it doesn’t matter, Louis can see it. A nice strong jaw that he can nuzzle and press his lips against. Full, plump lips, that are made for smiling. Tall, or taller than his honest 5’8, because he loves to be held and made to feel safe. Strong, but not too muscled. Nothing too intimidating. A gentleness, a bit of softness that perhaps goes unnoticed at first glance. </p><p>His tea has gotten cold, his back is aching from the lack of support the beanbag gives him, and light has started to filter through the curtains by the time he glances up from the paper.</p><p>His eyes feel dry and he knows that he should head to bed, knows that really he should’ve been in bed hours ago, but his muse is fickle and would dance just beyond his grasp if he gives up now. </p><p>Besides, he has a feeling that the perfect piece of marble is out there, just waiting for him to find it.</p><p>So instead of succumbing to sleep he makes himself a strong coffee, works out the knots in his back by taking a steaming hot shower, and gets on the phone with his supplier. Luckily the man is used to Louis calling him up at all hours of the day (though Louis does try not to call before 6:30 AM and after 10 PM) as well as him wanting to come by as soon as possible. He doesn’t have time until ten, however, and Louis considers taking a nap, but he’s too worried that he’ll end up sleeping through his alarms.</p><p>So he fills his time with tidying up the flat instead, knowing himself well enough to know that he’ll spend most of the next few weeks in his studio, letting dust settle over all the remaining rooms. It feels pointless to clean now when he’ll have to do it all over again once he finishes his commission, but it gives him something to do until he has to take the bus that’ll take him to within two miles of the quarry.</p><p>(While Louis has a license, he doesn’t own a car, but thankfully he has an understanding with the owner of the quarry, and his pieces are delivered to his flat, lugged up the stairs by men far stronger than him, who probably curse at him under their breath because Louis doesn’t live on the ground floor and they have just cause to absolutely hate him. He pays them handsomely though, and of course adds it to the bill that he sends off to whoever’s commissioned him for a piece. All in all, it’s a win-win situation.)</p><p>As long as he can find the right piece today, he’s golden.</p><p>➳➳➳</p><p>The warehouse is one of his favorite places in the world. It’s calm, always a little dark, and he’s surrounded by rows and rows of pieces of marble. Some large, larger than him, and some small enough that they could become a figurine on someone’s mantle. </p><p>It’s always quiet, and the people working the quarry know to leave him alone by now, know that he needs his time to get a feel for the kind of sculpture that lives inside the stone. So he gets sent in with his usual sticky notes, takes a moment to soak up the muted feeling of the warehouse once he sets foot inside. It makes him smile, even though inside he doesn’t feel as calm as he usually does. He feels inspired, jittery, as though the chance to find his perfect man is getting smaller by the second. </p><p>It’d be easy, to point to the first large enough slab that he sees and take it home. But Louis has made that mistake before. Back when he started out, when all he knew about marble was the surface. These days he trusts his instincts. Sometimes big cracks loomed far beneath the surface, ruining hours of work, and Louis can tell nowadays when a piece isn’t willing to cooperate. </p><p>So he takes his time, even when that thrill in his stomach intensifies the deeper he heads inside the warehouse. He allows it to lead him, this instinct that tells him just where to go.</p><p>He only gets sidetracked once, when he passes by a smaller piece of marble, something that might work as a bust or a smaller figurine. He’s drawn in by it, and when he rests his hand against the surface and closes his eyes the images come to him easily. Hair, pulled away from fine features. Arms, lifted in the air, fingers touching above the head. Clothes that fan out, fall away to reveal toned legs that end in pointed toes. A dancer. </p><p>He marks the piece with a sticky note, labeling it for purchase, and continues following the pull he feels in his stomach. He wanders deeper into the back, seemingly aimless, until he quite literally feels a jolt, pulling him down one of the rows of marble, towards one piece in particular. It doesn’t stand out from the rest but it <em>does</em>, nothing visibly different but Louis <em>knows</em>, even before resting his hand on the surface.</p><p>This is it. This is his perfect man. </p><p>He swallows, closing his eyes as he brushes his fingertips over the stone. It’s there, just waiting for Louis to coax it out. All those features that he’d sketched during the night are practically jumping out at him, begging to be revealed from their stone tomb.</p><p>Louis doesn’t need to check the quality. He knows, with a deep certainty, that this piece won’t betray him. That it’s been waiting for him to find it. </p><p>When he places the sticky note upon the surface he does so with the utmost care, even though his fingers are shaking with the excitement, the eagerness he feels to get started. </p><p>It's a fleeting thought, soon forgotten in his excitement: <em>If only it were as easy to find his perfect man as it was to sculpt him.</em></p><p>➳➳➳</p><p>Unfortunately, the piece can’t get delivered until later in the day, no matter how effective Louis’ pout is. The drivers are out on another delivery, and since it’s such a large piece, they’re going to need a few men to bring it up to Louis’ flat. Louis understands, but it doesn’t make it any easier to go home without his perfect man when he feels so wound up that he’s not sure he’s going to make it through the day.</p><p>In the end, he reluctantly forces himself into bed for a few hours. His thoughts, centered around the commission and the image he’d seen hiding in the marble, keep him awake for a while, but eventually he succumbs to sleep.</p><p>Only for his obsession to follow him straight into his dreams.</p><p>It starts with images of warm, tanned skin. Biceps that contrast softness on an otherwise toned stomach. Of inked designs, laurels on hip bones and a rose on an arm. He dreams of green eyes and soft brown curls, full rosy lips curled up into an attractive smile.</p><p>It’s not a sex dream. He doesn’t wake up panting and hard.</p><p>He <em>does</em> wake up aching. Longing, for the man he’d encountered in his dream. For the safety and warmth and feeling of home that it had brought him. The wholeness he’d felt, like every cell in his body was satisfied with who he was and who he was with. </p><p>When he wakes up it’s already past five p.m., and he doesn’t get more than a minute to reflect on the nature of his dreams - or mourn the loss of waking up alone - before the doorbell rings, making his heart skip a beat in renewed excitement.</p><p>He hovers, when the men carry the piece into his studio, has to bite his tongue to keep from warning them to be careful. They know what they’re doing, but this is important, more important than any other commission has ever been, and Louis doesn’t want to analyze exactly why that is. He tries to tell himself that he feels this way with every new commission, but deep down, he knows that’s not entirely true.</p><p>All feelings of exhaustion (and any lingering sadness) have faded away at the first sight of the marble, and after Louis tips the delivery guys and sends them on their way, it’s difficult not to head straight into his studio and lock himself away for the night.</p><p>But he’s only had breakfast, a good nine hours or so ago, and Louis knows how easy it is to get lost in his work, that even if he promises himself he’ll only work for a little bit before he eats, time will get away from him. He can’t afford to have shaky hands when he needs to be careful with every movement that he makes with his chisel, so he reluctantly forces himself to head into the kitchen instead.</p><p>If he’s distracted while eating, shoveling forkfuls of pasta into his mouth as he stares at the sketches he’d done that morning, well.</p><p>At least Zayn isn’t around to worry.</p><p>➳➳➳</p><p>Louis has learned, throughout his life, that perfection doesn’t exist. That things are messy, and that that’s what makes them <em>real</em>. </p><p>The highs don’t mean all that much without the lows. He knows that.</p><p>But art is the exception. Perfection does exist in art, and it’s what Louis strives for in every piece he creates.</p><p>Sure, sometimes perfection exists in <em>im</em>perfection. Sometimes, when he lets go of all expectations, doesn’t try to attain the unattainable, sometimes that’s when true art is made.</p><p>But sometimes it’s a matter of persevering. Of never giving up, no matter how hard it gets. No matter how many times he wants to put down the chisel or start over. Sometimes perfection is in his grasp and he just needs to continue working. </p><p>Louis loves his job, even when it’s hard. He loves his sculptures. The marble, the tools. Even the chips that come off and the fine dust that spreads throughout his entire flat. He is dedicated to his craft. He’s committed to every piece, sometimes to a point where he loses himself, but it’s always worth it in the end, even if it takes him a bit to find himself again.</p><p>This piece is no different. </p><p>He always puts a little of himself into everything that he creates, and this time, with the objective of creating his perfect man, the thing that he pours in is <em>longing</em>.</p><p>He thinks about having his perfect man in his life. About the future they could have, all those things that he’s wanted for so long. He thinks of all the love he has to give, and how he would give it so freely. And those thoughts, those feelings, everything that he wants from the future, from a real life perfect man, he pours into this marble representation.</p><p>He works on those soft plump lips, on the creases around his eyes because Louis’ perfect man likes to smile. He likes to make jokes - probably stupid ones, that Louis will have to roll his eyes at even when he tries to suppress a smile. His perfect man likes to make him laugh, and he likes to feather his fingertips over the crinkles by Louis’ eyes.</p><p>It takes him two days until he’s satisfied with the expression on the sculpture’s face. With the hint of laughter and warmth he’s somehow managed to capture in the stone. </p><p>Creating his face has given him a personality, and it makes it easy to imagine what his body will look like, makes it easy to decide where to place his chisel to bring the form in his head to life.</p><p>Louis talks to the sculpture, while he works. Treats him as though he <em>is</em> a person, not just a block of marble with a face, with eyes that seem to follow him around the room as he moves. He knows that people would worry if they saw, but honestly, it helps him stay focused. More than that, it helps him stay connected, to who he is and what he’s meant to create. It keeps him from losing himself.</p><p>He names him too. He’s named a lot of his sculptures, actually. One of his first pieces, an older woman that still lives in his studio, is called Betty. He knows that his friends don’t get it, would find him even more strange if he tried to explain, so he’s careful not to mention any of them by name when they’re around, but to Louis, they’re a part of his family. He’s poured so much of himself into them that it feels weird, not naming them, not acknowledging them as he heads into his studio.</p><p>It’s not like he doesn’t realize that they’re not real. It’s just easier to reveal the sculpture hidden inside the marble if he connects some sort of personality to the visual in his head. It helps him create shapes, movement, if he doesn’t just see an old woman or a dancer but actually knows how they’d move and act. How they’d <em>be</em>, if they were real.</p><p>Names are a good way to assign personality, Louis has learned. </p><p>So this sculpture, Louis’ perfect man, is named Harry.</p><p>Because his perfect man likes stupid jokes, and Harry has a lot of curly hair, that’s far trickier to sculpt than Louis had anticipated. It’s like it's got a life of its own, refuses to adhere to any pattern that’s easy to chisel out. His hair’s given him a headache on two consecutive nights, and it just fits.</p><p>The more he works on Harry, the harder it gets to tear himself away from him. He actually has to set alarms to remind himself to eat and sleep, and even then it’s so easy to swipe his phone and turn the alarm off, tell himself <em>just a few more minutes</em>. Just one more curl, one more feathered part of his eyebrow.</p><p>The client hadn’t given him a deadline. He’s got time. But something brings him back to the sculpture, time and time again.</p><p>It’s more than professionalism. More than dedication or perfectionism.</p><p>It spills over into his dreams.</p><p>Louis had dreamt about him before the piece got delivered, but a week in he has started to dream about Harry every night without fail.</p><p>He can hear his laugh, in his dreams. His voice. It’s slow and thick, like honey or syrup, leaving Louis weak in the knees. </p><p>He can feel the way his hands move over his body, cupping his elbow, resting on the dip of his waist.</p><p>He can see him smile. Eyes so bright. Dimples that Louis wants to poke his finger into. </p><p>Sometimes his dreams are nothing more than fragments of warmth and comfort. Of <em>home</em>. He wakes up feeling content, at least until he realizes that they’re just dreams.</p><p>Sometimes he wakes up with his head full of fluff and his underwear feeling sticky, and on those days he tries to stay away from the studio and he tries to get some semblance of a life, but without fail he gets drawn back to his work.</p><p>It’s alright though. He’s making progress, and once he’s done he can go out and get laid, get this out of his system.</p><p>➳➳➳</p><p>As much as part of him recognizes that his behaviour isn’t the healthiest, he can’t make himself rush the job. He does try to detach himself, tries to remind himself that even though he’s quite literally creating his perfect man, he is not going to end up <em>keeping</em> him. </p><p>Harry will be in some older woman’s house, ogled and admired, and whenever Louis reminds himself of that he has to push down feelings of irrational anger and jealousy. He waffles between spending all of his time working and taking much needed mental health breaks, the latter happening less often than the former. Probably happening less often than they should be.</p><p>Because from start to finish, it takes four weeks.</p><p><em>Only</em> four weeks.</p><p>Most days, Louis hadn’t even known what day it was until he’d checked his phone, and he’d forgotten it as soon as he put it back down. He’d had food delivered, sent the occasional text to Zayn because Zayn would quite literally come over and murder him in his sleep if he didn’t, but aside from that, he’d not had any human interaction in weeks.</p><p>But on the last day, when he knows he’s about to finish, he procrastinates. </p><p>He calls Zayn, rather than just shooting him a text. Makes plans to go out with him and Liam that evening. The thought of finding someone to hook up with still lingers in the back of his mind, but he’s not sure if he’s really up for it, or if he just needs someone to give him a bit of attention. And Zayn and Liam are always good at that, always willing to indulge him and offer him the comfort of a hug. </p><p>He goes out to get his own groceries. Cooks a proper meal.</p><p>It’s stupid and juvenile, because all he literally has to do is finish the last little toe. Everything else is done, <em>Harry</em> is done, and Harry is going to be perfectly happy in his new home because Harry is a statue and statues don’t have feelings.</p><p>And Louis isn’t going to miss him because Louis is not that pathetic, and yes, Harry might be Louis’ perfect man but he’s a <em>manifestation</em> of his perfect man, nothing more. Sure, he holds too many of Louis’ secrets and dreams for the future, because Louis had spilled his heart out to him as he was working, but he’s still not <em>real</em>, and Louis is not that attached to an inanimate object, he’s <em>not</em>.</p><p>But it’s still hard, to finish the sculpture. To pick up his tools one last time, pour all of his dedication into the last little toe. He can feel himself dreading the moment that he’s going to have to pick up the phone and call the woman who commissioned him. Can’t even think of her coming to his studio and appraising Harry, possibly finding fault in him when he’s basically Louis’ heart in a marble form. </p><p>He tries to convince himself that it’s a good thing that he’s nearly done. That he’s learned a lot, in the past month, and that he’s that much closer to finding his perfect man, since he now knows what he’s looking for.</p><p>But deep down he knows that he did what he promised Zayn not to do. He got lost in his work, poured so much of himself in it that he’s not quite sure who he is without him anymore. It’s like he’s actually lived with his perfect man for four weeks, and now that he’s about to leave Louis is a little heartbroken.</p><p>That’s why going out tonight is important. Because if he goes out, if he’s surrounded by his actual real life friends who will smile at him and hug him and make him laugh, he’ll forget all about the piece of marble that he’d pretended would one day do the same.</p><p>It’s that knowledge that finally gives him the motivation to finish the piece. To chisel out that last, perfectly imperfect little toe. </p><p>He stands back then, to look at him.</p><p>At the strong thighs. The knobby knees. The toned calves and the wonky toes, because perfection doesn’t mean that there are no flaws. </p><p>His eyes skip over the genitals he’d sculpted, because now that Harry is done it feels strange to look at it, even with a critical eye. He’s not his anymore, not an extension of Louis’ love and longing. So he looks at his chest instead, at his arms that are held in a traditional pose.</p><p>He looks at his long fingers and wonders what it’d be like to hold his hand.</p><p>The thought makes him step back abruptly. </p><p>He should call his client. Let her know the piece is done. It’s time to close the door to his studio, and find himself again.</p><p>But it’s late, and he’s supposed to meet Zayn and Liam in an hour, and he’s yet to shower and get dressed. He’ll call her in the morning. </p><p>Louis doesn’t want to admit what he knows deep down, that maybe he’s just not ready to say goodbye to Harry yet.</p><p>➳➳➳</p><p>It’s midway through a sloppy handjob in the bathroom of the bar that they’re at that Louis realizes that his heart isn’t in it. Zayn had been on board with his suggestion to get laid, after Louis had drunkenly admitted to the funk he’d been in for the past few weeks - omitting the part where he dreamt about Harry almost every night - and Louis hadn’t really been able to come up with a good enough excuse as to why he shouldn’t.</p><p>Except the excuses are right there, in the way that the hair he’s carding his hands through isn’t curly enough for his liking, and that the lips that are kissing him and moving down his jaw are too thin. In the way that he notices, that he <em>minds.</em></p><p>His heart isn’t in it, and everything about this feels wrong when it should be right. It’s not just stupid to be hung up on someone that isn’t real, it’s actually unhealthy and he should snap out of it.</p><p>But he can’t make himself go through with it. He’s not getting laid tonight, but he’s still definitely fucked, he realizes as he pulls back, wincing when the guy he’s with tries to chase his lips for another kiss. Everything about this is all wrong, and Louis knows that Harry isn’t real and isn’t his, but it’s still better than trying to lose himself in a hook up with a guy whose name Louis doesn’t know and who won’t matter in a couple of hours.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he says, his hand on the other guy’s chest when he tries to push even further into Louis’ space. It’s a blatant lie, but it’s not this guy’s fault that Louis is completely fucked up. “It’s not you, it’s just-” He’s not sure how to finish his sentence, so he just gives up, shrugs. </p><p>Blue eyes (that were wrong in the first place) narrow, and the guy gives him the kind of look that makes Louis want to crawl into a hole and die, it’s filled with that much disdain.</p><p>“Whatever. You’re not even hot anyway.” </p><p>Louis doesn’t even have the energy to flick the guy off. He’s too tired, both physically and mentally, the stress of the last couple of weeks catching up to him. So he just tugs up his pants (the ones that fit around his ass just right, and that have never failed him when it comes to going on the pull), washes his hands, and wonders what the hell he’s doing with his life.</p><p>He supposes he’ll start with another beer. One that he’ll have to drink alone, because Zayn and Liam had called it a night before Louis had made a half assed effort at getting laid, and Louis sort of wishes that his friends had still been there, because he thinks he might need someone to talk to. Thinks that maybe this time he should actually be honest, and admit just how obsessive he’d gotten.</p><p>The bartender slips him a beer when he hands him a fiver, and Louis contemplates talking to him for a moment, but he just sips from his drink instead. The liquid settles bitterly in his stomach, and Louis knows that he’s just wasting time, just delaying the inevitable, of going home to an empty flat and a cold bed.</p><p>He just wants his life to be different. He doesn’t want to be here, Friday night in a bar, wearing his best outfit and signaling that he’s willing to get laid, when all he really wants is to be at home, cuddled up with a boyfriend he doesn’t have, watching trash TV until they fall asleep.</p><p>He wonders when he got old, or if his life has always been this empty.</p><p>➳➳➳</p><p>The cab ride home is blissfully silent, which is a blessing and a curse in itself. Louis hands what is probably too much money to the cab driver, but he can’t be bothered to figure out what he should pay him, and he thinks that one of them might as well have a good night.</p><p>The stairs up to his flat have never felt taller as he climbs them, his legs feeling heavy much the same way his heart does when he finally lets himself into his flat.</p><p>He knows that he just needs a good night’s sleep. That nothing is ever as bleak in the morning. He knows that what he needs right now is time, to find himself again.</p><p>He knows he won’t find himself in the studio, yet that is where he goes, as though he’s expecting Harry to have the answers. As though he can ask him for it back, all of those emotions he’d poured into him that have left him empty, a gaping hole that he can’t fix on his own.</p><p>Harry looks fragile in the moonlight, and Louis stands there, pondering, not even sure what it is that he’s thinking of. It’s all just noise in his head, a mix of melancholy and desire, of longing for something that he doesn’t even have a name for.</p><p>He wants-</p><p>He wants love. He wants to be held and cherished and have a home. Not just a place to lay his head down at night. He wants to be loved the way that Louis had loved creating Harry. He wants his perfect man, but he wants him to be <em>real</em>. He wants <em>Harry </em>to be real-</p><p>His lips press against marble, against something cold and unforgiving, and it’s not until his hand comes up to rest against a sculpted neck that his eyes fly open and he stumbles backwards, nearly falling off the stepladder that he’d stood on.</p><p>“Jesus Christ.” He whispers, shaking his head and resisting the urge to brush the back of his hand against his lips, erase evidence that isn’t even visible to the naked eye. Harry stands there, as though nothing’s changed, and of course he does, because he’s a statue.</p><p>A statue that Louis has just <em>kissed</em>. </p><p>“I’ve hit a new low.” He rubs at his face, pushes down the insane desire to apologize to <em>a fucking statue</em>, something bordering on panic trying to claw its way up his throat.</p><p>He’s lost himself in his work before. Often enough that Zayn has warned him about it. </p><p>But it’s never been this bad. He’s never gotten to this point before, and he tries to tell himself that he’s just drunk and that he’ll laugh about it in the morning, but part of him worries that maybe this time he’s truly gone too far. Maybe this time he’s not just bordering on obsession, he’s actually gone and let himself cross that line without ever even looking back, without worrying if there <em>is</em> a way back.</p><p>Maybe this time just going to sleep isn’t going to be enough.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s still dark out when he first wakes up, his bladder so full that he thinks it might actually burst if he stays in bed for much longer. He stumbles through the flat, never once turning on the light, or bothering to fully open his eyes. Upon his return, he's already half asleep by the time his head hits the pillow.</p>
<p>The second time he wakes up, it’s to sunlight filtering through the curtains, birds singing in the tree just outside his window. The sounds promise a wonderful day, but Louis just wants to bury his head under the pillow and forget that the world exists.</p>
<p>Because now that waking up, he’s starting to remember exactly what had happened the night before. All the gritty, dirty details, from the slick of the guy’s hand on his dick to the way he’d stumbled into his studio at night, kissing a sculpture because he wasn’t sure how to cope with saying goodbye to him. </p>
<p>It’s childish, maybe, but the idea that if he stays in bed he can hold off on life for a little bit longer is too tempting. Maybe, if he tries hard enough, he can actually go back to sleep, and all of this will turn out to have been nothing more than a nightmare.</p>
<p>“Do you want me to make you breakfast?”</p>
<p>He’s sure he must have gotten his wish and fallen asleep at first, because he’s heard this voice before, but only in his dreams. This slow, thick sound that always calms him down. The calming effect wears off quickly, however, when he realizes that he can still hear the birds singing outside of his window and he can feel how dry his mouth is from a night of drinking.</p>
<p>With a pounding heart, he keeps his eyes closed at first, tries to go over everything in his head. He hasn’t pulled anyone. It’s not Zayn, because his voice doesn’t sound the same and he wouldn’t offer to make him breakfast, would just go and raid his pantry and wake him up to the scent of bacon and scrambled eggs. It’s not Liam either, because Liam’s always had this thing about personal space and he wouldn’t be in Louis’ bedroom without being invited in.</p>
<p>Let alone Louis’ <em>bed</em>, because now that he pays attention to it he notices the weight next to him, the slight dip in the mattress that would make it easy to give into gravity and roll against whoever’s next to him. </p>
<p>The problem is, he knows the voice. He also knows that this can’t be happening. That it’s impossible.</p>
<p>“Louis?”</p>
<p>He shivers, bites his lip, turning around so slowly that it’s like he’s not even moving at all. And even fully turned around it still takes him a minute or so to gather the courage to open his eyes, peeking at the person next to him through his eyelashes.</p>
<p>He sees full lips, a perfect cupid’s bow. Dimples so deep that they almost look carved into skin.</p>
<p>They’re features Louis knows.</p>
<p>They’re features Louis has <em>sculpted</em>.</p>
<p>His brain takes a moment to catch up, to notice that the red of those full lips, the slightly tanned skin, is all just that shade off from being natural. To connect the dots between those details that don’t quite match up and what must be the reality of this situation, however improbable. When it all clicks, it’s like he’s made up entirely of nervous energy, his body making him scramble out of bed before he’s made the conscious decision to. His fingers drop to his thigh, absently pinching the skin because even though everything points to it, he can’t actually be awake right now. </p>
<p>Because there’s no way that Harry is in his bed.</p>
<p>Harry, <em>the statue he sculpted</em>, is in his bed.</p>
<p>Jesus fucking Christ, he’s <em>become </em>Pygmalion.</p>
<p>“Hi,” Harry says, a bright smile on his face like there’s nothing out of the ordinary happening here and he just happens to be a boy Louis has picked up in a club. “I’m Harry.”</p>
<p>Louis looks at him, at the way he’s got his head cocked, still a small, puzzled smile on his face. At his features, that look so deceptively human. There’s a flush to his cheeks and his green eyes are the exact shade that Louis had conjured up in his dreams, features that he’d imagined so many times but would have never been able to express in the snowy white of the marble.</p>
<p>This can’t be happening. He presses his hands to his head, shakes it as though he can reset his brain and keep it from tricking him, as though when his eyes will refocus Harry will no longer be human looking and in his bed, but back in the studio where he belongs. But he shakes his head and he looks at Harry and he’s still there. Still sat in the bed, looking up at him so sweet and patiently, and - how is this possible?</p>
<p>“How is this possible?”</p>
<p>Harry frowns for a moment, fingers twitching as though he wants to reach out to Louis, and Louis remembers with a guilty stab how much he’d wanted to reach out and hold his hand yesterday. He takes a step backwards now, but it’s less because he doesn’t trust Harry and more because he doesn’t trust himself. “Aren’t you happy?” Harry asks, and he sounds so sincere that Louis finds he wants to do whatever it takes to keep Harry from being hurt. </p>
<p>“I didn’t expect this,” Louis answers after a moment, because it’s true and it’s exactly vague enough. “I wasn’t - you know you were a statue, right?” </p>
<p>Harry frowns for a second longer, but then brightens up into a smile, nods as though he’s glad to know the answer to at least one of Louis’ questions. “I was,” he says. “But now I’m not.”</p>
<p>Louis’ knees are still weak so he gingerly sits back down on the bed, making sure to keep distance between them. “Now you’re not?”</p>
<p>“Well, not as much anymore,” Harry amends. “I’m still made of stone, of course.” </p>
<p>“Of course.” Louis echoes, as though any of this makes <em>any</em> sense. He looks at Harry, at how deceptively human he looks. At least, as long as he doesn’t examine him too closely. He can see it then, when he pays attention. The way his eyelashes are still clumped together, because he was good at what he did but not good enough that he could chisel out each individual eyelash. At the way his skin looks rosy and soft but it’s almost painted on, and Louis has the feeling that if he reached out and touched his cheek it’d be hard underneath his fingertips, like marble had just been overlaid with skin. </p>
<p>Harry just sits there and lets him examine him for a moment, before turning those deep green eyes towards him. “I’m sorry I startled you,” he says softly, and it sounds so genuine that Louis almost wants to tell him it’s alright. “It’s just, it looked so cozy, and I remember you telling me how much you hated waking up alone.”</p>
<p>Louis blinks at him. “You remember … from when you were a statue?”</p>
<p>Harry nods at that. “Before you brought me to life.”</p>
<p>“I - I brought you to life?” </p>
<p>Harry nods again, and the way that his expression changes is so interesting. It’s not subtle. It’s like he’s not sure how to work his face yet, like he needs to practise more before he can really display a full range of emotion. “Of course. Who else could have done it? There’s no one else around.”</p>
<p>Right. Harry might have a point at that. Louis pushes down the stab of guilt he can feel in his stomach, because he’s not entirely sure that what he did last night caused Harry to come alive, but he can’t really think of what else it could be. Except if Harry was always meant to exist, and had just been waiting for Louis to finish creating him. But that sounds even more crazy to his own ears. “Do, uh, do you know how I did it?” He asks, because maybe Harry does and maybe it’s not the fact that Louis laid one on him in the middle of the night when he was drunk and confused and terribly alone. </p>
<p>Harry shakes his head. “I don’t remember,” he says softly, and his features slide into a frown again. “I remember everything you told me, but somehow I don’t remember how I came to life. That’s weird, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>It’s not as weird as actually being alive in the first place, but Harry looks genuinely distressed, and Louis finds himself reaching out for him without thinking, though he flinches back a little when Harry’s skin feels cold and hard under his fingers. “It’s okay,” he says quietly, because he’s not sure of much but he knows that he doesn’t want to upset Harry. “We can figure it out, I guess?” Even though he has no fucking clue where to start, or, he realizes, even how long this will last.</p>
<p>Was Harry permanently stuck like this? Was Louis going to have to figure out how to explain a walking marble statue to the rest of the world? Or was he going to revert to being a statue, in due course? If Louis’ kiss had woken him up, would not kissing him make him go back to sleep?</p>
<p>They’re questions he doesn’t have answers for, doesn’t have a hope of figuring out right now when his head is still full of fluff and there’s a headache pressing against his temples. All hopes of sleeping it off are out the window, so he figures the next best thing is to make himself breakfast. Things are never as hard as they seem on an empty stomach, after all.</p>
<p>Plus, it’ll give him something to focus on. Something that isn’t Harry. </p>
<p>“C’mon,” he says, grabbing for a shirt and pulling it over his head, already halfway out of his bedroom before he even finishes talking. “We should get some food.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>Harry has followed him into the kitchen, naked as the day he was born - or came to life, Louis supposes - and Louis tries his hardest not to look at him, as he rummages through the cupboards in search of something that sounds good. His mind is drawing a blank, but he blames the naked boy standing in his kitchen, who doesn’t seem at all concerned with his lack of clothes. </p>
<p>It brings up interesting questions. </p>
<p>“Do you feel the cold?” </p>
<p>Harry glances down, Louis can tell from his peripheral vision, and he swallows when he watches Harry brush his fingertips over his thigh, even though the motion is far from sexual. He still makes sure to look away when Harry looks back up. </p>
<p>“Yes and no,” Harry says after pondering Louis’ question for a moment. “I’m aware of it, but I don’t really feel it. At least, not from around me. Maybe more so from within?”</p>
<p>Louis nods. That sort of makes sense, since Harry is a statue after all. It makes as much sense as anything does right now. </p>
<p>He can’t find anything that sounds good to him in his cupboards and turns his attention to the fridge, pulling out bacon and eggs more because it’ll give him something to do than because he’s actually looking forward to eating. He isn’t even sure if he can swallow past the lump in his throat.</p>
<p>Harry comes to stand next to him when he’s at the stove, hovering as though he wants to ask Louis something, but he stays quiet. Louis isn’t sure how he feels about that but he’s relieved that he doesn’t have to deal with complicated questions on an empty stomach, so he lets him stay close, only realizing how dangerous that could be when he turns on the pan to slide in the bacon.</p>
<p>“Here,” he says, taking his apron and handing it to Harry. “So you don’t get splashed.”</p>
<p>Harry looks at him, apron in hand, a kind of puzzled expression on his face, and Louis takes the apron from him again, tries to avert his eyes when he ties it around Harry’s waist. Harry’s arms are obediently lifted in the air, and Louis tries not to notice the subtle ripple of muscle underneath the skin. “I wonder if it would hurt,” Harry says quietly, and Louis frowns, steps back and has to force back a smile at the sight of Harry in his apron.</p>
<p>It says <em>kiss the cook but don’t touch the buns </em>on the front, and it’s a little too short on Harry, only reaches midway down his thighs, but at least he’s covered up, and it’s not yet another thing picking at Louis’ sanity. </p>
<p>“Let’s not figure that out, alright?” He says, because he doesn’t want Harry to hurt himself, and he doesn’t want to have to deal with more than he’s already got on his plate before he’s even had breakfast. Sooner or later, he knows he’s going to have to get to the bottom of this, but it’s easy to postpone that moment. Easy because Harry doesn’t ask questions, just stays near him, and easy because a terribly selfish part of Louis almost likes that he’s not alone.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>The thing is. It’s almost <em>too </em>easy, being with Harry. It’s like this is a continuation of the past four weeks, except now he doesn’t have to go to the studio to talk to Harry. Now he can just be on the couch and Harry will be right there, and he’s lovely to look at and he smiles whenever Louis looks at him and-</p>
<p>The thought doesn’t escape him that this is what he had wanted. </p>
<p>He knows it can’t last, of course. That Harry isn’t real and sooner or later this is going to end, but for one day only, can’t he be allowed his own little miracle? </p>
<p>Because Harry is <em>there</em>, and Harry is lovely, and he waits for him on the couch with a blanket and a hot cup of tea after Louis has showered, and it’s <em>easy</em>. Louis likes easy. He likes that there’s no awkwardness, that Harry just seems to know what it is he wants. The thought that it’s because Harry remembers everything he’d been told does cross his mind once or twice, but he’s too tired and he’s been too lonely to really give it much attention. Deep down he knows that this isn’t right, that he should at least make an attempt to figure out why this is happening, but -</p>
<p>Chances are, by tomorrow morning, everything will have gone back to normal anyway, because that’s what happens in stories, and since statues really only come to life in stories, Louis figures it makes sense that they’re on limited time. He’d worry about making this Harry’s best day ever since this might be his only day ever, but all Harry seems to want to do is cuddle on the couch with Louis, and that’s more than alright with him. As long as he can ignore the nagging thoughts pressing on his brain (which he’s all too happy to conveniently mistake for a headache brought on by too much drinking and not enough sleep), things are <em>fine.</em></p>
<p>It’s not until late at night that his thoughts become more insistent, and Louis is forced to acknowledge that maybe all is not as simple or fine as he’d foolishly expected.</p>
<p>Because it’s been getting late, and Louis has been feeling close to sleep for at least the past hour. He’s comfortable though, on the couch, under a blanket, with music playing in the background and Harry playing with his hair. His fingers are brilliant, and it might just be Louis’ imagination but over the course of the day Harry had seemed to manage more and more of his fine motor skills, to the point where he can separate tendrils of Louis’ hair without much effort. Louis knows he’s going to fall asleep right here on the couch if Harry keeps it up. He also knows that the couch is not comfortable for a man in his mid twenties, let alone for two men, one of whom was also technically made out of marble. </p>
<p>So he pushes himself up, just enough to look at Harry, whose immediate response is to smile at Louis. He doesn’t stop petting his hair and Louis needs a moment to collect his thoughts, resists the urge to nuzzle into his hand. </p>
<p>“I should get to bed soon,” he murmurs, and his tone sounds a little disappointed, which makes Harry smile even brighter. Louis wants to poke his dimples with his fingertip. “Are you staying here or coming to bed with me?” </p>
<p>Harry’s fingers are brushing over the shell of his ear now, and Louis has to suppress a shiver. “What do you want me to do?” He asks, and the sensation of sensitive skin being stroked means that it takes a moment for the weight of that question to really sink in. </p>
<p>Louis frowns, when it does. Something cold trickling into his veins, replacing the warmth that spending his day with Harry had suffused him with. “I want you to do what you want,” he says, sitting up while he does, looking at Harry who is frowning now too.</p>
<p>“I can come with you, if you want,” is what Harry says, and Louis finds himself shaking his head.</p>
<p>“I didn’t say that,” he points out gently, though by the way that Harry’s frown deepens he doesn’t think he quite managed to be as gentle as he wanted. “You decide.”</p>
<p>Harry pauses for a moment. “I’ll stay here?” he says, but it sounds more like he’s hazarding a guess. Like he'll change his mind if Louis wants him to.</p>
<p>It makes something tickle unpleasantly in Louis’ stomach, and he pushes himself up to stand, shaking off the blanket and folding it over the edge of the couch. “Fine,” he can’t help sound a bit sharp, thoughts in turmoil, but he works to soften his features, his voice. He's not sure he fully manages. “Good night then. I’ll see you in the morning.”</p>
<p>It’s a lie, because he can't be sure that he will, but the knowledge isn’t enough to make his steps falter, to make him turn back. It does make him worry, once he’s in bed, a cold bed in a dark room, but he holds onto the knowledge that at least he got one nearly perfect day. </p>
<p>And, he reasons, maybe this was all he needed in order to be able to stay goodbye to him. Maybe when he wakes up and it turns out that none of this had been real or meant to last, it’ll be easier to call his client and have her pick Harry up. </p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>Louis wakes up like he'd gone to bed - alone. That’s alright. He’d expected to. </p>
<p>A part of him wants to head straight into his studio, check up on Harry, who he figures is on his pedestal by now, as though all of yesterday had been a fever dream.</p>
<p>Maybe it had been. Maybe Louis had been so delirious by lack of sleep and the amount of alcohol he’d had that he’d never actually left his bed, and all of yesterday had been in his head. </p>
<p>Maybe, if that’s the case, he should call Zayn and tell him to take him to a doctor, because it doesn’t exactly sound healthy.</p>
<p>It’s not like he needs the reminder, after all. He’s well aware that he wants a relationship. It just hasn’t been easy to find the right person lately. And alright, maybe a small part of Louis has considered giving up on dating, at least for a while, so maybe it <em>is</em> a good reminder. Maybe this is just fate nudging him along, telling him his happy ending is right around the corner.</p>
<p>The thought is a happy enough one that it finally convinces him to get out of bed. He’s ready. Sort of. He’s going to start living again. He's going to call his client and leave all of this behind. </p>
<p>It’s still early, he finds when he looks at his phone, and he figures that he should probably not call her until he’s at least had breakfast. Old people notoriously got up early (his nan had had a phase where she’d call him at six thirty in the morning to chat with him while she had her breakfast), but he doesn’t want to risk that his client might just be the exception. </p>
<p>So, breakfast first.</p>
<p>He’s halfway into the kitchen when he sees Harry from the corner of his eye. On the couch. Unmoving. Like Louis had brought him out of the studio and placed him onto the couch, and that was the only thing about yesterday that had ever been real. </p>
<p>He wonders about it, for a moment, but dismisses the thought. Even delirious he would not be strong enough to lift a marble statue all by himself. </p>
<p>He should be relieved, that this is over. That whatever had happened had been for one day only, and now Louis can finally move on. </p>
<p>He thought he’d be relieved.</p>
<p>But instead he just feels guilt. Overwhelming guilt, settling in acid in his stomach. He feels dread, grabbing him by the throat and making it hard to breathe. He feels <em>loss</em>. </p>
<p>He nearly trips over his feet in his haste to get to the couch, wincing when his fingertips reach out to touch cold skin on Harry’s face. “Harry,” he whispers, worry in his voice, in every cell of his being, because he knows that it’s selfish to want him to be alive but he also knows that he’s not ready to lose him, whatever lies he’s been telling himself to the contrary. He squeezes his eyes closed to hold back the tears, hands gripping at a stone cold shoulder. “<em>Harry</em>.” </p>
<p>Fingertips, like little dots of ice, come to rest against his cheek, and he jolts back, hands flying up to cover the hand that’s reaching out for him, eyes opening to find Harry looking at him, lips slightly parted to breathe out Louis’ name.</p>
<p>“Oh thank God.”</p>
<p>It’s not something he’s ready to acknowledge, this near visceral reaction to thinking that he’d lost Harry. Instead he presses a kiss to his fingertips, and frowns. “You’re cold.” </p>
<p>Harry gives a small nod. “I am.” There’s no judgment behind it but Louis still has to resist the urge to look away, to avoid his eyes and possibly his responsibility in this matter. </p>
<p>“You could’ve come into bed with me,” he says quietly, thinking back of the previous morning, of waking up to Harry snuggled under the blankets with him. He wouldn’t have minded, if that had been what Harry had wanted. </p>
<p>He tucks the blanket from the couch around him now, even if he’s not sure it’ll make a difference. Harry watches him do it, with a slight frown on his face, but he doesn’t speak until Louis has shifted back down to kneel on the floor. “It didn’t sound like you wanted me to,” he says softly, and Louis thinks that it has no right to sound as devastating as it does. “So I didn’t.”</p>
<p>Louis frowns, glad to see a little bit of colour returning to Harry’s face now that he’s covered by the soft peach blanket. “That’s sweet,” he says slowly, trying to make sense of the thoughts in his head, of the nagging feeling that it isn’t supposed to be sweet, isn’t about consent as much as it is about Harry putting Louis’ needs above his own. “But you were cold, Harry.” He points it out gently. “You shouldn’t have to be cold just because I might not want you to be in bed with me. You could’ve at least asked for a blanket, or something else.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t want to bother you,” Harry says. “You seemed frustrated, last night. I didn’t want to make it worse. I just want you to be happy.” He gives him a curious glance. “That’s why I’m here, after all.”</p>
<p>Louis blinks. “It is?” He asks, and Harry nods before he can protest, before he can tell him that he’s not sure why Harry is here but he’s pretty sure it’s got nothing to do with making sure Louis is happy.</p>
<p>“That’s why you created me, remember?” Harry says, and the fact that he sounds and looks more animated now doesn’t sit well in Louis’ stomach, but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t get the chance to, because Harry’s continuing like every word is not a dagger slowly being sunk into Louis’ body. “You created me to be your perfect man. You told me all about your loneliness, your hopes for the future. For <em>us</em>. I could feel you calling out to me, even from the warehouse. And when you found me, I could only hope that I would be enough.” He reaches out for Louis, fingertips tracing his cheek. Louis finds that he sort of wants to cry. “For a while, I didn’t know if I’d be able to give you what you needed; I was worried I’d never wake up, but you figured it out. You brought me to life. You infused me with all your love, all the warmth and hope and desire you have inside of you. It’s in every piece of me, Louis. Your emotions. Your desires. They’re what woke me up and they’re what keeps me going. The desire to give you what you want. To love you, like you want me to.”</p>
<p>He finishes talking and for a moment all Louis can hear is silence, followed by the rushing of his blood in his ears.</p>
<p>Harry's alive because Louis wanted to be loved.</p>
<p>Harry's alive because Louis-</p>
<p>Louis shakes his head, wants to argue, wants to tell him that that’s not -- but he’s not wrong, is he? Harry’s right, in saying that he wants it. He’s certainly not given him any indication to think otherwise, with the way he’d cuddled with him last night, and <em>oh</em>, did Harry even want that? Or did he just want it because he thought it was what Louis wanted? Did he not have free will? </p>
<p>“But what about what you want?” He asks feebly, even though part of him is scared to know the answer, feels that cold trickle through his veins again, bringing something that tastes vaguely like disgust. “Not everything that I want has to be something you want? That’s not - you don’t have free will? You don’t want anything that I don’t want? How does- you‘re supposed to be your own person, Harry.”</p>
<p>Harry frowns lightly. “But I’m not,” he says quietly, and the fact that it’s not even meant to sound sad is devastating. Louis flinches, and barely manages to hold Harry’s gaze as he continues. “I’m not a person at all. Louis, I don’t understand. You created me. I’m meant to make you happy, do what you want. Is this - am I not doing it right? Am I not good enough for you?”</p>
<p>It’s too much. It’s too much and Louis can’t - did he take advantage of him, last night? If Harry is only doing things because he’s created him and he’s got no choice but to listen to Louis - <em>oh God</em>.</p>
<p>He shakes his head, lost in his thoughts, in the panic that’s trying to claw its way up his throat. He doesn’t register the way Harry tenses, the way his eyes briefly widen as he takes Louis shaking his head as confirmation that he really <em>isn’t</em> good enough. He only barely notices the sudden disappearance of a cold hand on his skin when Harry withdraws.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Harry says evenly, and Louis isn’t sure what’s going on in his head but he’s not sure he’s in the right frame of mind to figure it out. “Right.” It sounds quiet, and carefully neutral, and Louis wants to reach out, wants to reassure him, but what can he say? What will ever make this okay? </p>
<p>It’s too much and it’s too late, because by the time he stops feeling like he’s a breath away from a panic attack, Harry is gone.</p>
<p>To the studio. To be with the other statues. <em>Where he belongs</em>, he’d said as he left, and the worst thing is that it hadn’t even sounded bitter.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>Louis feels like a total coward all day. </p>
<p>Because on the one hand, Harry staying in the studio solves a lot of Louis’ problems. Not as many as would be solved if Harry turned back to stone, but, having him there, not in his direct space, means that Louis doesn’t have to worry too much. Doesn’t have to think about everything that has been happening and how he’s responsible for it.</p>
<p>But on the other hand, he <em>is</em> thinking about it. He’s thinking about everything that has happened and he knows he’s responsible, but he doesn’t know how to <em>fix</em> it. Staying away from his studio would be the easy solution, but Louis has a feeling that it isn’t the right one.</p>
<p>But going into his studio and convincing Harry to come out comes with its own set of problems. Every time he gets close to getting up he can’t help but think about what it means that he wants to, and if Harry will be in a position to say no. And then he starts thinking of how rejected he’d feel if Harry did say no and how even a statue with no free will would turn him down, and <em>then </em>he starts thinking of how Harry might come with him after all and he would let Louis cuddle him if that’s what Louis wanted and that train of thought makes Louis feel sick to his stomach because he wants to be cuddled but he wants Harry to want it. And not because he’s been told to want it, but because it’s inside of him, an innate desire that was his very own.</p>
<p>He spends a lot of time thinking about whether or not that’s even possible. If, assuming Harry is going to stay alive, there’s a way to teach him his own desires. Teach him how to be his own person, someone who hadn’t just come to life but was able to live that life. To make his own choices, live for himself. </p>
<p>The room grows darker around him and he still hasn’t come to any definitive answer, but he knows that he has to try. It’s well past dinner time when he finally gets the courage to get up from the couch and head over to his studio. There’s no movement inside that he can hear from the hallway and for a moment he just rests his hand against the door, wondering if he should call out to Harry. Wondering if he’s already heard him coming, and if he will respond or elect to ignore Louis like he probably deserves. </p>
<p>He swallows, taking a deep breath, his fingers trembling as he pushes open the door, his eyes trained on the floor because he’s afraid of what he’s going to see. Part of him expects Harry to be back up on his pedestal, like nothing had happened. Like there was still some way that all of this had been a dream, and it wouldn’t be like this morning, when it had only seemed like Harry wasn’t able to move.</p>
<p>He’s not sure if that’s even possible, but he doesn’t think he wants to find out. He doesn’t think he’s ever going to be able to forgive himself if he hurts Harry so badly that he somehow finds a way to turn himself back to stone again. </p>
<p>The room is dark, curtains drawn, and Louis takes a step forward, his fingers reaching for the light switch though he freezes when he feels something underneath his heel, hears a soft <em>crunch</em>. His heart stops for a moment, until he fumbles, manages to turn on the light. </p>
<p>There’s a small scattering of marble shaped teardrops all the way from the door to a large lump in the corner, hidden from sight by the soft, peach coloured blanket that’s usually draped over Louis’ couch. </p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Louis’ heart breaks, and he wants nothing more than to hurry forward, but he is slow, careful in the way he approaches him because he’s not sure he’s going to be welcome, and somehow the studio feels more like Harry’s space than his. </p>
<p>“Harry,” it’s soft, as he crouches down by him, small marble teardrops digging into his knees when he kneels down in front of him. He doesn’t give himself time to process the fact that apparently Harry can cry, even if they’re tears of marble. “Love-”</p>
<p>The word gets stuck in his throat when he carefully peels away the blanket to reveal a face that’s carved with grief, but to his relief he can see slight minute movements that tell him Harry’s still here, still with him. For a moment he can’t help but wonder if Harry’s upset about that, but then he opens his eyes, and he gives Louis a look that makes his heart hurt all over again.</p>
<p>“You came,” he whispers, and Louis isn’t sure if it was the right decision, but he nods, arranges the blanket around Harry so it’s not covering his face. </p>
<p>He’s not sure where to start, even now that he’s here, but he figures there’s really only one place to start. “I’m sorry.” He says, and it’s quiet and sincere and not enough but it’s all he has. “I didn’t mean that. That you weren’t good enough for me.” He hadn’t said it, but it’d been there in the way he failed to respond and it’s not Harry’s fault that he doesn’t know the difference. </p>
<p>“I just-” He sighs, finds that coming up with the right words is a struggle. “Those things you said, about how I made you come to life, I didn’t know that. I didn’t know I was doing that, and it caught me off guard, and it made me worry because I couldn’t be sure if you cuddling with me was something you wanted or if you did it because it was something <em>I</em> wanted, and I just - I didn’t want to hurt you.” He makes a face. “And of course, by doing that, I did hurt you, and I’m sorry for that, Harry, I really am.”</p>
<p>Harry just looks up at him with those deep green eyes that Louis had dreamed about and had known he’d never be able to accurately portray in marble. He doesn’t say anything, just looks sad and lost and young, and Louis wants to wrap him up in his arms and protect him from the world. </p>
<p>Instead he shifts a bit, to sit, his back against the wall. Close enough for Harry to know that he’s here, but far enough away in case he wants his own space. “It’s not right, what I did,” he continues quietly. “Making you love me. Making it so that you didn’t have a choice. You should always have a choice.” He pauses, frowns. “Do you get what I’m saying?”</p>
<p>There’s a small frown on Harry’s face that his fingers are itching to stroke away. “You want me to choose to love you.” Harry says softly, and Louis bites down on his lip to hold back a sigh. He can’t blame Harry for taking that away as his main message. Especially when there’s a small, hidden part of him, the part that’s lonely and scared and wants to be loved so desperately, that’s secretly hoping that that’s exactly what will end up happening.</p>
<p>“I just want you to choose, period.” He corrects him gently. “You said you weren’t a person. And you’re right. You’re not. You’re a reflection of who I am and what I want. But Harry, that’s no way to live. That’s not - you can’t live for me. What if something happened to me?” He swallows. “I don’t know if you’re going to stay like this but if you are, then, I owe it to you that you have a chance at an actual life. At figuring out who you are, and what you like. Hobbies and friends and things that you love.” He meets his eyes. “Outside of me. Because that should be okay, Harry. It should be okay to love other people, it shouldn’t feel like your only purpose for being here is to love me.”</p>
<p>Harry shifts a little bit, a knobbly knee poking out of the soft blanket. Louis wants to tickle it just to make Harry smile. “Do you think that’s possible?” Harry asks after a long moment. </p>
<p>Louis isn’t sure, but he has a feeling that Harry needs him to know the answer. “I hope so,” he says, not wanting to outright lie to him when things are so fragile. “Will you help me figure it out?” He gives him a soft, slightly sheepish smile. “We probably shouldn’t cuddle until you know for sure that it’s something you actually want to do, and, I’m sorry for that, by the way, I’m sorry that I didn’t ask yesterday, I should’ve thought-” he swallows, knowing that his apology isn’t enough but also aware of how fragile Harry is right now, that he shouldn’t dump too much on him too soon. So he opts for another small smile instead. “But I won’t lie, it’s been nice having some company. If you’re up for it, I’d much rather have you around than hide out here with the other- with the statues.”</p>
<p>There’s a small twitch to Harry’s lip that almost looks like it might develop into a smile. “You can call me a statue,” he says quietly. “It’s what I am.”</p>
<p>Louis nods. “You’re right. You are. But you can be more, if you want.”</p>
<p>Harry stays quiet for a moment. “I don’t know how to do that.” It’s soft, and Louis nods again.</p>
<p>“Me either. But I’d like to try and figure it out. Is that okay with you?” He knows it might be hard, asking that question. Putting the responsibility of an answer on Harry, when Harry only knows to do just what Louis wants. </p>
<p>“I want to say yes,” Harry says slowly, the frown making a reappearance on his face. “But I don’t know if I want to say yes because I think it’s a good idea or because <em>you</em> think it’s a good idea and you want me to say yes.”</p>
<p>Louis reaches out for him, careful, ends up resting his hand on Harry’s knee. “I do want you to say yes,” he says honestly. “And I know that asking you to make your own decisions when you don’t even know how to is too much to ask for now. We can figure it out together, okay? We’ll just take it day by day. I’ll - I’ll introduce you to movies, and shows, and music. Other people. And I’m not gonna tell you what I think about them, and maybe you know exactly what I like but maybe you’ll also figure out what you like.” It’s stupid, inconsequential things, but it’s the only way he can think of to start, and he hopes it will at least do something. “We can do this, Harry.” It’s full of false bravado, but he hopes Harry will believe him nonetheless. Will believe in him, because Louis needs that right now. </p>
<p>Harry nods, looking at him in a way that makes Louis feel particularly seen. “Okay.” He whispers. “I’d like that.”</p>
<p>He smiles at Louis. And Louis knows better than to think that things will be easy from here on out, but at least it’s a start. So he smiles back.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With a tentative truce established, Harry follows Louis out of the studio and into the living room where Louis wraps him up in his blanket and turns the heating on, debating on making tea to warm Harry up before realizing that Harry can’t drink it. There’s still something so comforting about the feel of a mug of tea in your hands though, so he makes them both a mug, and for a while they sit on the couch in silence, Louis sipping his tea and Harry just occasionally smelling it.</p><p>“I’ve told you a lot about me,” Louis says eventually, when his thoughts are becoming too big and overwhelming to keep to himself, the prospect of making Harry realize he’s a separate person too daunting when he doesn’t yet know where to start. “Is there anything you can tell me about you? Were you - before I brought you home, you said that you could feel me calling out to you from the warehouse? Was it always there, your consciousness? Does every piece in my studio have one?” It’s not exactly the lighter topic he’d planned, and it might give him a headache, but it’s a start. Knowing that Harry was more or less aware before Louis means that he’s not entirely created in his image. There’s a core, somewhere, that’s entirely Harry’s own.</p><p>Harry watches Louis from over the rim of his mug. “Yes and no,” he says, which is not an answer but Louis will work with it. “I wasn’t like how I am now. I guess, the best way you could describe it is that it was potential? I was always going to be <em>something</em>, it just took you to figure out what.”</p><p>It’s not an entirely comforting thought, though Louis appreciates his honesty. He takes a sip from his tea, hands wrapped around the mug, the warmth doing what it’d done since childhood, when his mum would make him tea after a hard day at school. It was soothing no matter the turmoil in his head. “So you could’ve been a ballerina, if I’d been inspired to create one?” The thought of Harry in a tutu, clumsy giraffe legs attempting to do an arabesque brings a smile to his face. </p><p>Harry snorts, but nods. “I guess. Do you regret not making me a ballerina?” He asks, and Louis looks at him only to see him smiling back at him. </p><p>He figures Harry already knows the answer, but Louis will humour him nonetheless. “Nah.” He says, and the dimples on Harry’s face deepen. “I mean, not that you wouldn’t look great in a tutu, but, if I’d made a ballerina it would’ve been a female.” He swallows, voice softening a bit. “And having grown up with five sisters, when I was inspired to create my perfect partner - well let’s just say I think I’ve had enough of girls for a lifetime.” </p><p>“Did you always know?” Harry asks him softly, and Louis isn’t sure how this will help Harry figure out who he is, but it’s late and he’s cozy and maybe they can start tomorrow. After the day they’ve had, the idea of an evening that isn’t fraught with tension is quite appealing. </p><p>“Sort of.” He answers honestly. “I mean, I tried dating girls, because that’s the kind of thing that you’re supposed to do when you’re at that age, but I never felt that attraction that my mates did. I just did it because everyone did, and I didn’t want to stand out.” He shrugs. “But eventually I figured out that no one was gonna like me for being a copy of everyone else, so I decided to stay an original.”</p><p>Harry hums. “I like that,” he says after a moment. “I want that too. To be an original.” He looks up at Louis, a little unsure, as though he’s not sure Louis will like what he has to say. “More than the sum of your parts.” </p><p>Louis feels some of the tension in his chest fade a little bit at those words. So he shows his approval by smiling at him, reaches for him to squeeze his arm. “Good.”</p><p>➳➳➳</p><p>Since Louis’ second bedroom had been converted into his studio shortly after Zayn moved out, things get a little awkward when it’s time for bed. They’ve not really done much in the meantime; Louis cooked a terribly overdue dinner, and Harry watched him eat, but when it’s late and he’s tired, when the music is turned off and the room’s grown too cold to be comfortable even with a blanket, Louis finds himself suddenly unsure. </p><p>He wants to be respectful of Harry’s boundaries, but Harry doesn’t know where those boundaries are. And the last thing Louis wants is for Harry to do the wrong thing for what he thinks are all the right reasons.</p><p>But his couch <em>is </em>less than comfortable for any grown man, let alone one literally made of marble. He supposes he could push the coffee table out of the way and make a bed on the floor with his spare mattress, but he can’t help but remember how rejected Harry had felt this morning. How miserable he’d been, and seeing as how they’ve spent most of today apart already, Louis sort of wants to keep him close and make sure that Harry isn’t being hurt any further.</p><p>So instead of putting the mattress on the floor in the living room, when he drags it out of the hallway closet where it’d been unceremoniously stuffed for months now, away from all the marble dust that tended to cover every surface in his flat, he wordlessly takes it into his bedroom. Harry follows him, not saying a word either as he helps him by finding the linens all the way at the back of his bedroom closet - the part that Louis can only reach when he stands on his tippy toes. Harry isn’t even that much taller, but it’s just enough to make it more comfortable, though he gets a face full of regular dust for his efforts that Louis can’t help but cackle at.</p><p>“Sorry,” he says, as he shakes out the pillowcase. “I should remember to dust back there more often.” </p><p>Harry coughs delicately. “You’d think, considering I’m literally made of stone and dust, that it wouldn’t bother me.” He says, and Louis briefly wonders what it means that Harry can cry and cough. It’s strange, especially considering he can’t eat, but the logistics of it are too complicated to comprehend when his brain is full of fluff and he can barely keep his eyes open, so he focuses on fitting the sheet on the mattress instead, making sure it’s free from dust and wrinkles, even if Harry’s skin is too tough to notice.</p><p>Looking down at a hastily made bed, he frowns for a moment, glancing up at Harry. “Are you alright with the mattress?” He can’t help but ask, conscious of wanting to give Harry a choice even though Louis is not going to let him stay with him in the bed. “I figured it’d be more comfortable than the couch, but if you’d rather take the bed, I can take the mattress.” He figures giving him a choice might be easier if it’s between two things, rather than leaving everything up to him, and though Harry’s eyebrows knit together for a moment he just nods silently.</p><p>It doesn’t seem like it’s <em>entirely </em>his choice, as much as it is him doing what he thinks Louis wants, but Rome wasn’t built in a day and all that. They’ll slowly find their way, Louis is sure of it.</p><p>Or, well, he’s at least hopeful.</p><p>With Harry settling on the mattress on the floor next to his bed, curled up with his favorite fuzzy blanket and one of Louis’ pillows, Louis feels like he’s able to relax for the first time since this morning, or even the day before. </p><p>And for the first time in a <em>long </em>time he gets to fall asleep to the sound of someone else’s breathing. </p><p>➳➳➳</p><p>The next week is calm, in the best sort of way, as long as Louis ignores the nagging concern that he should call his client, let her know there was a delay with his project. He knows that it’s the right thing to do, the <em>polite </em>thing to do, that even though she’d not given him a timeframe she might get impatient nonetheless. But it’s hard to find a moment away from Harry to call her.</p><p>That’s what he tells himself anyway. </p><p>He also knows that he should get some new marble in, because it’s not as though he can actually sell Harry when he’s walking around like a human being, but he doesn’t really like the thought of leaving his flat when it means leaving Harry behind. </p><p>Plus, if he goes to the quarry to get new marble he’s going to have to explain to Harry what he’s doing, and - well. </p><p>It’s easier to hide himself away, to pretend that he’s doing this for Harry, that he just wants to give him his undivided attention because it’ll help Harry adjust. </p><p>And Harry <em>is </em>adjusting. He’s listening to music that Louis hasn’t picked out. Some mornings Louis wakes up to him dancing around his living room, belting songs into a wooden spatula that he’s holding up like a microphone. Talking to an audience of Louis’ various pieces, singing songs from the great divas. Sometimes he’s chosen something to watch on the telly before Louis has even had a chance to think about what he wants to watch. He is learning. <em>Living</em>.</p><p>It takes four days before Louis finally feels comfortable enough to go out and even then it’s only to the grocery store because he absolutely cannot exist on tea and cereal any longer. He feels this pit in his stomach the entire time that he’s away, barely pays attention to whatever he’s throwing in his cart, but when he comes back it’s to find Harry asleep on the couch, the fuzzy blanket draped over his legs. </p><p>Harry’s still not wearing clothes half the time, even though Louis had found him some stuff that belonged to various exes over the years (or Liam, honestly, there are so many pieces in his wardrobe that he’s not sure belong to anyone at this point), but he claims that they feel weird on his skin. Constricting, he’d called it, and they’d come to the agreement that as long as Harry covered up, Louis wouldn’t make him wear any clothes. </p><p>Since going to the supermarket had gone alright he chances a quick trip to the quarry the next morning. A new commission has come in, and none of the marble in his collection jumps out at him as the perfect piece, so he feels like he has no choice in going. He does, however, have a choice in ignoring the larger blocks on display, even when the logical side of his brain tells him that he should stop sticking his head in the sand and face up to the very real possibility of having to start from scratch. That possibility, which really, is a given, comes with telling Harry everything about why he’d decided to create him, though, and it’s a conversation Louis is happy to postpone for the moment. </p><p>So instead he only focuses on finding a few smaller pieces, ones that feel like they have potential, because with Harry now alive he feels more inclined to listen to his intuition than ever before. To listen for that potential that Harry had admitted was inside of him, and when he finds a few pieces that practically scream out at him the moment he closes his eyes and rests his hand on their surface, he feels almost comforted. It’s nearly soothing enough that he stays, loses himself in a much needed moment of calm, but the thought of leaving Harry alone for too long still makes him antsy, and he eventually caves, heading up front to pay and one of the pieces home.</p><p>It’s not like he doesn’t trust Harry. It’s just, what if something goes wrong? What if he hurts himself? Or what if someone rings the doorbell and Harry opens up, thinking it’s him? Yes, Harry looks more human every day, but one look at him and people would still be able to tell that something wasn’t quite right. </p><p>(The fact that Harry looks more human every day is kind of bewildering, and Louis tries not to think about it too much. It makes his brain hurt when he tries to think of the logistics, of how it shouldn’t be possible that his skin is softer and he’s even broken out once or twice. He knows he should look into it. But he’s not sure he’s ready for the answers, in case they’re not what he wants to hear.)</p><p>Harry’s intrigued when Louis comes back with the marble. It’s small enough that Louis had opted to take it home on the bus, not wanting to risk a delivery when he couldn’t explain Harry but didn’t want him to feel like he had to hide away. It’s partially the reason why he’d only elected the one piece that he thought would work best for his new commission, but even though he’s glad that he’s able to take it home, he’s also sort of regretting it when his arms are aching by the time he’s managed to drag the piece back to his flat. He’s out of breath and cursing himself for not exercising more, though he knows better than to promise himself that he’ll change that particular habit. He never sticks with it; after all, muses are fickle and he’s led by when inspiration strikes. </p><p>Luckily Harry helps him once he’s inside, carrying the piece into his studio with an easy strength and a sort of reverence that makes Louis smile. He knows it makes sense, considering they’re made out of the same material, but it’s sweet, to see his pinched forehead as he carefully lowers the piece onto Louis’ work table. </p><p>There are still so many questions that Louis wants to ask him, but he doesn’t. Not even when Harry joins him in his studio, sitting on a small stool near the window sill, quiet as a mouse as though he doesn’t want to disturb Louis while he works. </p><p>Louis would usually feel grateful for the silence, as he works best without distractions, but he can feel the intensity with which Harry is looking at him and it proves to be enough of a distraction on its own. It also makes him smile though, the curiosity that’s palpable in the air, and he turns to glance at him.</p><p>“You can ask questions, if you want,” he says softly, and Harry takes that as his cue to come closer, to stand near him and look over his shoulder in a way that would annoy Louis if it was anyone else. But with Harry it feels alright, feels comfortable even, the hint of warmth he can feel at his back. </p><p>“How do you know?” Harry asks, after Louis has felt out the lines of the sculpture through the marble, has carefully chosen his instruments and laid them out. Louis just cocks his head and glances at him, and Harry elaborates. “You’re looking at them as though you already know what it’s going to look like when you’re done. And I figured I might too, since you made me and since I’m marble too, but all I see is a block of marble. How do you see what lies beyond?”</p><p>It’s something Louis hasn’t quite figured out himself yet. It’s something that’s even harder to put into words. But he doesn’t want to just dismiss Harry’s question, shrug it off like it isn't worth answering. “I don’t know,” he says softly. He shifts a little, bumping his shoulder into Harry’s chest, and blindly reaches for his hand, bringing his fingers to the marble and letting them brush over the surface the way he’d just done. “I just feel for the lines, and the image just sort of comes to me.”</p><p>“Does it ever turn out different?” Harry asks, keeping his fingers on the marble even when Louis lets go of his wrist. His touch is light, fingertips sliding over the cool surface, that probably feels warm to Harry’s own cold skin. “What happens if you have something in mind but you can’t find the right piece? What if what’s inside your head doesn’t exist in the marble?”</p><p>Louis shifts a bit to allow Harry more room to explore the piece on the workbench. “It happens, sometimes. Sometimes what’s inside still comes out, no matter what kind of plan I have in my head. And that’s alright. Those are some of the best pieces I’ve done. I try and listen to what the marble tells me these days. For instance, I wanted to make a ballerina recently, but the piece I had at home wasn’t right for it. I felt pressured to do it because of a commission and because I didn’t have time to go to the quarry, but the marble ended up breaking off wherever I went against it.” He shrugs a shoulder. “It sounds kind of crazy, I know.” He’d stopped questioning it though. Trusted his instincts, trusted the images in his head that came to him when he touched the marble. Sometimes close enough was all he could ask for. Sometimes a piece had potential, but could be molded into whatever shape Louis had in his head. But sometimes what he wanted and what the marble wanted would clash, and he knew better than to force his will upon stone these days.</p><p>Harry shakes his head. “It sounds lovely.” He whispers, and he shifts too, to press his shoulder up against Louis’. “So you knew I was hiding inside there, as you picked me out?”</p><p>“I had you in my head,” Louis answers honestly. “I knew what I wanted you to look like, so I just had to go to the quarry to find you.” He ponders that for a moment. “I don’t think any other block of marble would’ve worked. I might’ve come close, but it wouldn’t have been <em>you</em>.” The potential Harry had talked about, that he’d felt, Louis had felt that too. Had felt that extra little <em>zing</em> that told him this was just right.</p><p>There’s a soft hum, and then Harry presses a kiss to Louis’ cheek. It’s soft and simple and Louis can’t help but smile. “Thank you,” Harry says softly. He’s smiling too, and Louis’ slightly confused expression must be clear enough, because Harry’s smile deepens and he clarifies “For finding me.”</p><p>➳➳➳</p><p>Somethinghappens a few days later. Harry’s been alive for well over a week, and Louis has fallen asleep to the sound of his breathing every night. He’s lived every day with Harry, and it’s progressed to a point where he feels comfortable again being around him, being <em>near</em> him.</p><p>He’s kind of been caught up in him, if he’s honest. To the point where Zayn had sounded worried in the text he’d sent, because Louis had gone from regularly keeping in touch (letting him know he was still alive and not to worry) to basically dropping all communication in favor of spending time with Harry. He’d managed to persuade him not to break down the door though, but only barely, and Louis tries to remind himself to keep in touch more often, though it’s hard when spending time with Harry is all he wants to do.</p><p>They’ve ended up cuddling once or twice, nothing extensive, nothing really that he wouldn’t do with any friend, and though the first time Louis had worried whether or not Harry truly wanted this, even though he’d been the one to press up to Louis’ side in the first place, the fact that Harry had seemed so soft and relaxed and sleepy afterwards had laid those fears to rest. He’d still asked him about it, the next morning, and Harry had just smiled at him and cuddled back into his side, and Louis had decided that he was just going to have to trust him. If Harry said, or even indicated, that he was doing something because he wanted to, then Louis was going to have to believe that. </p><p>It happens when they’re watching a movie. It’s late and Louis’ defences are down, and he’s always loved The Notebook even though there’s some scenes in it that aren’t nearly as romantic as they’d seemed to him when he was a teenager and blissfully unaware of how complicated adult life could be. He can see the same starry eyed look in Harry’s eyes now that he knows must’ve been on his own the first time he’d watched the movie, and he can’t help but think about it. About Harry going on a date. </p><p>His thoughts, almost like a natural progression, then bring him to the prospect of Harry going on a date with <em>him</em>. It’s nothing that makes his heart trip over itself, really. It’s just - </p><p>There’s so many things that Louis would like to see him experience. His first time at the movies, for one. There’s something about the sticky seats and smell of popcorn that he can’t recreate in his living room, and he thinks Harry would love it for how tacky it is. </p><p>His first time at the park, having a picnic and feeding the ducks. Harry’s first time at the shelter, petting kittens.</p><p>He wants him to experience all those things. </p><p>And he wants to be there with him, when he does. </p><p>Harry’s still enraptured by the movie, staring at the screen with his legs drawn up to his chest and the pad of his thumb in his mouth, that he chews on absently while watching Noah and Allie reconnect on the pier. It’s one of Louis’ favorite scenes, one that he can quote without even looking at the screen, which is a good thing because he can’t take his eyes off of Harry.</p><p>He tells himself that it’s just because he wants to see him react to the movie. That it’s one of those things he wants to see Harry experience. It doesn’t mean anything beyond that.</p><p>But then Harry turns to look at him, giving him a slightly sideways smile, and Louis can feel his heart thump wildly in his chest.</p><p>It’s a moment that’s barely a moment. Harry’s already turned his attention back to the screen like nothing has happened, but Louis sits there, in his favorite chair, feeling like all the blood has frozen inside his veins.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>He knows better, is the thing. He knows that the last thing he should do is develop some sort of feelings for Harry. Because Harry is learning to be his own person, and once he figures out who he is he’s also going to figure out who he wants, and Louis knows that it’s not going to be him. </p><p>Because it’s never him. He’s always too much or not enough, doesn’t fit the boyfriend mold, and that’s always been okay but he thinks it might not be okay if even his perfect man is going to end up not wanting him.</p><p>He tries to remind himself to be careful, that he should not allow himself to get in any deeper than he already has, but by the end of the movie Harry is sniffly and vulnerable and looking at Louis as though the only thing he wants right now is a hug and Louis isn’t cruel enough to deny him that. So even though his legs feel like jelly and his heartbeat is nothing short of erratic, he finds himself getting up and sitting on the couch with him, opening up his arms for Harry to curl up into. </p><p>Harry’s head comes to an easy rest on his shoulder, breath puffing out against his skin in a way that would be maddening if Louis paid it any sort of attention. He’s wrapped up in his favorite blanket, fingers curled around the edges, looking soft and sniffly and sweet and Louis knows he shouldn’t care for him the way he’s starting to but he can’t help it. </p><p>“Lou?”</p><p>Louis stops focusing on how nice and normal it feels to have Harry in his arms and starts focusing on resisting the urge to brush a kiss over his curls. Harry gave him permission to cuddle him, it doesn’t mean he’s got permission to do anything else. “Hm?”</p><p>“What’s it like to date?”</p><p>Of course Harry would ask him that, when Louis has just had an internal freakout over the same subject. Louis almost wants to laugh. But Harry deserves an honest answer, and even though it might not be as wonderful as he’s expecting, Louis isn’t going to lie to him. He’d rather save him the heartache, for when he inevitably finds out that some dates just plain <em>suck</em>. “If you’re asking me if it’s anything like the movies, I’m sorry to disappoint, love.” He says softly. “I mean, I suppose it could be, with the right person, but I’ve not met them yet, so I wouldn’t know anything about that.”</p><p>There’s a part of him that’s still the incurable romantic, that thrives off the idea that he’ll have that once in a lifetime love someday. The kind of love that inspires songs and movies and that makes heartbreak sound like it’s almost something to look forward to. “Getting to know someone, that part’s awkward. Feeling like you belong though - when it’s good, it’s <em>good</em>. When you feel like - sometimes it’s just right? And for a moment you don’t worry about how or when it will end. Those moments, when everything feels possible. Those are nice.” He’s maybe a bit too jaded for them these days. Has maybe been a bit too careful to ever experience them in full, but he’s seen how it can be from Liam and Zayn, had fancied himself in love when he was young, even though he now knows that it was never really like that. He thinks he’d like to experience it though, the real thing, not what he mistook for love when he was in his teens. </p><p>Harry hums, and Louis is relieved to hear that his voice doesn’t sound as wobbly anymore. The sniffles have stopped too. “I think I love love,” Harry whispers, and Louis can’t help but smile. “I like the idea of belonging to someone. Even if it’s just in that moment.”</p><p>Louis squeezes him a little tighter. <em>I hope you will never lose that</em>, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it. Instead, like the absolute masochistic moron that he is, he says “Do you think you might want to date?” and he’s almost glad that Harry isn’t looking at him because he’s not sure if he’s ready to see excitement in his eyes.</p><p>“Maybe.” Harry says, taking a moment to think it over. “If I find the right person.”</p><p>A week ago, Louis thinks almost bitterly, there would’ve been an inflection in his voice. A week ago, they would’ve both known that when Harry said ‘the right person’ he really meant ‘Louis’. </p><p>Louis really should be relieved that he doesn’t, anymore. That Harry means exactly what he says, isn’t hinting at him to ask him out. Because it’s objectively a good thing. It means he’s discovering who he is and what he wants. He might not be entirely there yet. Might not know exactly what he’s looking for. But he’s getting there. He’s figuring himself out. </p><p>It’s just - apparently he’s already learned that what he wants out of life isn’t <em>Louis</em>.</p><p>It’s alright. Of course it is. After all, Louis wants nothing more than for Harry to be his own person and make his own decisions. Even if they come at his expense. </p><p>It just hurts, that he’s proven right, so quickly after coming to some realizations of his own. That mere minutes after his heart skipping that first beat, after realizing that maybe his perfect man really is perfect for him after all, after barely daring to allow himself to sit with that feeling in the first place, he gets hit in the face with reality. His perfect man, the one that insisted he had been created to love him, the one that’s now learning to make his own choices, doesn’t choose to love him. </p><p>Harry really only loved him when he didn’t have another choice.</p><p>➳➳➳</p><p>Louis has never reacted the best to being rejected. It’s one of his more annoying flaws, and he always regrets it when he gets over it. He regrets letting his petty side show, and he regrets letting someone influence him so much, to the point where he becomes a person he doesn’t really recognize and definitely doesn’t like. Especially when it’s not even over something big, when he’s yet to get so involved that his reaction makes sense. He’s always been dramatic though, but that doesn’t mean that he has to like it when he reacts this way.</p><p>The problem with being rejected when living with someone is that there’s not really a place to escape. No way to fully distance himself from the situation and give himself a chance to work through the bitterness without lashing out. It doesn’t make it any easier that Harry doesn’t even understand that he rejected Louis, that he’s maybe not even aware of it. Louis isn’t actually sure if that makes the situation better or worse. He has a feeling Harry would be kind and understanding if he knew, that he’d take care to let Louis down easy because Louis always thought he would want that from his perfect man. </p><p>Instead, right now he just wants to be left <em>alone</em>, but in a two bedroom flat where one bedroom is turned into a studio there aren’t an awful lot of places to go. Especially when Harry is so used to being around him, seems just as eager to spend time with him as before. </p><p>Louis isn’t sure how to cope with the situation, with the prospect of feeling something for Harry, of developing feelings for him only when Harry is doing the exact opposite. He’s learning how to not love him at an increasingly quick pace and the bitter part of Louis can’t help but wonder what exactly is so wrong with him that even someone who claimed to have been created to love him was so eager to let him go. </p><p>The only thing he’s comfortable doing in times of great confusion is to throw himself into his work. Lock himself away in his studio, and not come out until dust has settled into his lungs and strengthened his bones. It doesn’t hurt that it pairs perfectly with his petty desire to freeze Harry out, and although he is ashamed to admit it, he barely talks to Harry the day after The Moment.</p><p>He’s not sure what, if anything, it means that Harry lets him. That when Louis tells him ‘sorry, I just need some time alone to really focus on this piece, just watch some TV, alright’ he just nods and smiles and lets him hide away like he doesn’t know that that’s what he’s doing. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe Harry has no clue, but Louis feels like he should know, because Harry’s his perfect man and if he can’t understand him then who can?</p><p>Despite his less than stellar attitude, Harry still brings him food. He leaves it in front of his door and knocks, and Louis eats only because he thinks Harry might come in and force him if he doesn’t, and he just needs some time to himself. He just needs -</p><p>the thing is, he <em>knows</em> it isn’t fair what he’s doing. He knows he can’t punish Harry for doing the exact thing he’d asked him to do. </p><p>But it still takes him two days before he emerges from his studio, dust in his hair and in his lungs, or that’s what it feels like at least because he can’t really breathe when he sees Harry.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he says, and the words taste hollow. “Sometimes I just get-” but he doesn’t know how to finish his sentence without lying, so he just shrugs and wonders if Harry will let him get away with not explaining himself.</p><p>He shouldn’t feel relieved when he does.</p><p>➳➳➳</p><p>The next morning he wakes up to Harry having made him breakfast. It’s nothing that hasn’t happened before, but this time Harry doesn’t stay with him while he eats it. Instead Louis hears him putter around in the kitchen, and when he comes back in after he’s eaten he finds that the dishes are all done and Harry is in his bedroom, making up the bed.</p><p>Louis wasn’t planning to head into the studio today, since he’s all but finished his latest commission, but there’s something about the quiet in the living room that feels almost eerie. Harry hasn’t turned any music on, isn’t watching tv, instead he’s just sat there on the couch, looking like he’s deep in thought. </p><p>It feels a bit off, but Louis can’t quite put his finger on it. He figures maybe this is just Harry’s reaction to his behaviour from the past days. Maybe now that Louis has sort of come around (or at least done the bare minimum and apologized), Harry needs some time to reflect on what had happened. Louis figures it’s only fair to give him that chance, so he doesn’t disturb him. He does however make sure to rest a hand on his shoulder and give him a slight squeeze before he disappears into the studio to finish up his commission, giving Harry the space he might need.</p><p>The nagging feeling doesn’t quite disappear though, and an hour or so into work, Louis admits defeat. The sculpture isn’t completely finished, but he can’t help but wonder what’s going through Harry’s brain. There’s this persistent thought that maybe Harry thinks Louis doesn’t like having him around anymore, that maybe he wasn’t quiet this morning because he was lost in thought but because he thought Louis wanted nothing to do with him. Which he can’t exactly blame him for, based on the way he’d acted, but it’s not because there’s anything wrong with Harry. It’s just that Louis is an asshole when he gets his feelings hurt, and he doesn’t always know how to use his words when it is imperative. </p><p>So he finally caves, leaves the studio, eager to make it up to him. To do better. Harry’s still on the couch where he left him, but he’s watching a movie now, and some of the tension dissipates from Louis’ chest as he finds him staring at the screen, another romance movie commanding all of his interest. </p><p>He almost doesn’t disturb him, but when he sits next to him and rests a tentative hand on his knee, Harry turns to look at him and smiles, and Louis finds himself wanting to make an effort, wanting to make sure that he keeps smiling. So he asks him if he would like to play a boardgame, and Harry lights up, seems so eager to accept that Louis feels even more like a dickhead for neglecting this lovely boy. </p><p>With the movie still playing in the background, they play Monopoly, then cards. Harry is smiling and he’s so adorably focused and so sincerely joyful when he wins that it’s worth the slight ache in Louis’ chest whenever he thinks of how he might end up losing this. How he could have already lost this just because he was too in his own head to realize that having this is always going to be better than not having Harry around at all. Louis just needs to get his head out of his ass and do better. Be the friend that Harry needs, and not allow that tender feeling inside his heart to grow. It’s not what Harry needs, and frankly, it’s not what Louis needs either. </p><p>They end up cooking dinner together, and watch another romantic movie. </p><p>And for a while it feels like everything is okay again.</p><p>➳➳➳</p><p>The next morning, Louis wakes up to breakfast in bed. To heart shaped pancakes that Harry must have worked really hard on because they’re a little bit wonky and Harry is frowning like he’s worried Louis will find fault in it. So Louis makes sure to thank him for the pancakes, to praise him for being so lovely and sweet, and Harry goes all pink and soft and it feels pretty close to perfect.</p><p>After breakfast, Louis hops in the shower, head full of cotton candy thoughts, of little things that he could do to show Harry his appreciation. Things that they could do together. He thinks maybe they could go out, just to someplace quiet. Maybe at night, when the lack of light would keep Harry from standing out to people. He thinks he might like to take him to the park for a walk. Harry’s been here for over a week and he hasn’t once felt the breeze on his face. It’s something Louis feels should be remedied. </p><p>He thinks he might surprise him with it, later today. </p><p>Instead Harry is the one to surprise him. With dinner, one of Louis’ favorite meals, and Harry looks so proud when Louis comes into the kitchen only to find the tiny dining room table set up with candles and a tablecloth that Louis doesn’t even remember owning. </p><p>There’s dinner and wine and Harry even set a plate for himself despite the fact that he doesn’t eat, and it’s all so close to romantic, but it still doesn’t click until Harry asks him if he’d like him to bring Louis flowers sometime. </p><p>Louis pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth. “What?”</p><p>Harry looks at him, this small smile on his face, and the way he shrugs is almost delicate. “Do you want me to bring you flowers?” He repeats, and Louis knows he hadn’t misheard him but it doesn’t mean that he <em>understands</em>.</p><p>Except that he thinks he might understand. There’s a lump in his throat that he’s sure is not a meatball from the spaghetti Harry has made him, and no amount of swallowing makes it go down. “What do you mean?” he asks, and he hates how his voice sounds almost careful.</p><p>“I’ve been watching the movies. You like those movies. And you seem to like when I do things they do in the movies.” Harry tells him and Louis wants to reach over the table and press a hand to his mouth to keep him from continuing. Instead he sits there, frozen, his fork still in his hand. “You were so happy when I made you breakfast in bed, and when I cleaned for you, did those little things that people say you do for each other when you’re in love. And I thought - I know it’s usually the women who get flowers and chocolates on dates, but I don’t know how it’s supposed to work when there’s not a woman involved. And I know that we don’t really go anywhere, but, I figured if we can’t go to a restaurant on a date then maybe this would work, and you looked so happy when you saw the candles and the food and I just - if there’s anything more I can do, I need to know.”</p><p>Louis is careful when he lowers the fork onto his plate, almost winces when it makes Harry frown. “Harry,” he starts, but he’s not even sure how to respond to it.</p><p>“Is this not what you want?” Harry asks, and his voice sounds so timid, so confused that it almost makes Louis want to cry. “I’ve been trying. You were so different all of a sudden and I didn’t know how to fix it, but I’ve been trying, and that seemed to make you happy so I figured-” he gestures towards the food. “I don’t know how to do this Louis. I just want to make you happy.” He looks at him, pleading expression on his face. “Please tell me how to make you happy.”</p><p>Louis' heart aches and his head is spinning, and he wants to wrap Harry up in a hug for looking and sounding so sad, but something inside of him is frozen still, this fear and guilt clawing up his throat and making it hard to do anything. “Harry,” he tries again, and this time Harry doesn’t immediately speak up. “Harry, I-” he shakes his head, rubs at his forehead. “You do make me happy.”</p><p>Harry frowns. “I do?” He asks and it’s clear that he doesn’t believe it. Louis can’t exactly blame him for it. He certainly hasn’t acted happy in the past couple of days. “But you’re happier when I do those things for you.” He concludes, and it’s not a lie but Louis still wants to protest it.</p><p>“Well. Yeah.” He settles on eventually, frowning now too. “But that doesn’t mean that you should do them. Not unless you want to.” He looks up at him, for just a moment. “Do you want to?”</p><p>“I want to make you happy.” Harry says, and if he could’ve just left it at that then maybe things would’ve been alright. Maybe things would’ve been fixable, but he keeps going, drives that knife in deeper until Louis feels like his lungs have been punctured and he can’t breathe. “I want to be the person you want me to be. I’ve not been perfect but I can be. You just have to let me try. I can be perfect again, like you want.”</p><p>There’s something wild and desperate in Harry’s eyes, and Louis wishes that he could reach out for him and steady him, but it feels like all he does is make it worse. “What about trying to be your own person?” He whispers, and Harry’s expression instantly turns stormy.</p><p>“I <em>was</em> trying, but it wasn’t good enough. I thought it was - but then you changed. You locked yourself in your studio for two days and you didn’t say a word to me and I didn’t <em>understand</em>. And I wanted to understand but you didn’t talk to me and I thought, maybe it was something I did. Maybe it was <em>me</em>, who made you act like that, and I just- I didn’t know what it was but I knew that if I could just fix it, if I could just make you happy, then I’d be happy too. And I thought back to what you told me, all those hours you spent working on me and telling me what kind of man you wanted, and that’s” His voice breaks and his eyes seem so sorrowful when he looks up at Louis. “Why is it so bad to want to be perfect for you, Louis? Why won’t you let me love you?”</p><p>The buzz in Louis’ head is becoming more insistent, little moments of the past week catching up with him now, guilt and fear and frustration swirling together until it shapes into something dark and twisted, something that punches the air out of his chest and makes his words come out just that bit too loud. “Because it isn’t <em>love.</em>” It’s loud enough to make Harry jump, and Louis exhales harshly, his hands shaking so badly that he has to resist the urge to sit on them, in fear that it’ll make his entire body jittery. “Sorry,” he manages, knowing that he hasn’t raised his voice to Harry before and that it must be a shock to him now. “I- Harry, you don’t love me.” </p><p>He swallows, shakes his head, continuing even though he can barely make himself look at Harry for more than a second, too afraid that his expression will make him swallow his words when he knows he’s been doing far too much of that. When he knows that he’s let himself be placated by his own thoughts, by his own foolish reassurances that things were okay. “Love isn’t being perfect for someone. Love isn’t- you <em>can’t</em> love me if you don’t know who you are. What you feel is nothing more than a memory of what I left behind when I created you. It’s impulses based on what <em>I</em> want.” He gentles his voice, looking up at Harry even though he’s scared of seeing the expression on his face. “The fact that you try to be perfect for me the moment that things seem to be wrong is exactly why <em>none </em>of this is real. Because you’re not doing what you want. You’re doing what you think I want.”</p><p>There’s a small defiant set to Harry’s chin. “So what if I do?” He asks, and he shakes his head when Louis opens his mouth. “No. Listen to me. <em>So what</em>? I want to be with you. You want to be with me. You <em>created me to love you</em>. So let me love you.”</p><p>Louis swallows. “But I didn’t,” he whispers, and he knows it’s not going to be the right thing to say but he’s not sure what else to say because until Harry knows he doesn’t think he’s going to believe a word he says. “I didn’t create you to love me.” There’s so much silence in the room that Louis could almost believe he’s alone, but he knows he’s not, knows that Harry is still sitting opposite him, undoubtedly feeling as hurt as Louis is. Feeling even more hurt than Louis could ever imagine. He drives the knife deeper, knowing that they’re too close to the precipice to do anything other than tumble into the dark abyss. “I was asked to, by a client. She wanted me to create a sculpture of my perfect man. I was meant to create you and then sell you to her.” He wasn’t ever meant to get this lost in his project. But he had never expected this to happen. How could he? </p><p>He glances up at Harry through his lashes. “Your raison d’être was never to love me. To be loved in return.” He swallows. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“You were-” Harry starts, his voice wobbly, and the strength in it fades before he’s managed more than those two words. “<em>Oh</em>.”</p><p>Louis wants to reach out for him now more than ever. Wants to wrap him up in a hug and tell him everything. That he hadn’t meant for Harry to come alive. That he’d turn it back if he could, because no amount of previously untainted happiness that he had experienced in the past week made this okay. He wants to say that he’s sorry for letting Harry believe that he could love him - even though Louis had never put that into words. It’s clear now, like it should’ve been clear before if Louis had just stopped to think about it, from everything that Harry had been doing that a part of him had always been thinking of what Louis wanted. </p><p>It makes it abundantly clear why he can’t allow himself to love him. Why he’s been pushing those feelings aside. It’s not just the desire to keep his heart safe, to keep from feeling the sting of rejection. It’s because he can’t <em>trust</em> him. Because - and the thought makes Louis swallow, the lump of guilt in his throat so big that it almost cuts off his oxygen -  there’s never going to be a situation where Louis isn’t taking advantage of him. </p><p>It hurts, because the way he’s started to feel hadn’t felt wrong until now, but it is. This softness that he has towards Harry, this want for him to be happy, it feels tainted now, and Louis wants to run away and lock himself in his room, be somewhere far away where he can’t ever hurt Harry again.</p><p>But, he realizes with a pang, Harry doesn’t have anyone else. Harry only knows Louis, so of course he wants to make Louis happy. He’s never going to learn anything else, as long as he stays here. </p><p>As long as Louis is the only person in his life, he’s never going to be able to move on from him, discover who <em>he</em> is and who he really loves. </p><p>Louis breathes out shakily. “You should go,” he says quietly, and the way Harry looks at him, eyes large and so afraid only makes him more certain that this is the right decision. “Not - I don’t want to hurt you, Harry. You need a chance to be away from me. To not have to worry about me or what I want. Maybe that will help you figure out who you are.”</p><p>“Why?” Harry whispers. “Why, if you’re never going to let yourself love me. Because you won’t, will you? I’ll never be good enough for you.”</p><p>Louis swallows. “I want to say that you could be. But I’d be lying.” He looks down at the meatballs, at the candles. Thinks back on the pancakes that had made him so happy this morning. “This isn’t real, Harry. <em>You’re </em>not real.” He hates himself, but he forces himself to continue, even knowing that what he says will hurt Harry. “So no. I can never let myself love you. Because nothing between us will ever be real.” </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The problem is, since Harry doesn’t know anyone else, doesn’t know anything except for Louis and this flat, he doesn’t have anywhere to go. Louis can’t exactly put him out on the street, not that he would ever want to, because with no money, no place to stay, no ID or actually even any useful knowledge about the world, Harry would be in more danger of getting hurt than he would be if he stayed here. </p>
<p>It takes Louis a while to come up with a solution. Harry stayed in the kitchen, silently clearing away the remnants of dinner, and Louis let him because when he’d suggested he could do it Harry had just brusquely taken the plates from him and mumbled that he’d already done enough.</p>
<p>So Louis retreated to his studio like he’s done so often in the past few days, and it’s there that the solution comes to him. </p>
<p>It’s obvious, really. </p>
<p>Harry needs a place to stay. A <em>safe</em> place to stay. Someplace where he can be himself, where he’s accepted and cared for in the way that Louis doesn’t trust himself to do right now. In the way that he can’t, when just being around him hurts Harry’s development.</p>
<p>There’s no safer place than Zayn and Liam’s flat. No two people that Louis trusts more in the world. He knows that they’ll take care of Harry, that they’ll give him the privacy to fall apart as well as the comfort to confide in them. </p>
<p>He’s not sure Harry will like the thought of leaving but he thinks it might be for the best, thinks Harry might also not like staying, now that he knows the truth. As much as it hurts, Louis is not the right person to help him come to terms with the sudden seemingly pointlessness of his life. But Zayn and Liam, both of whom have struggled with depression and their own existence, would be able to help Harry, Louis is sure of it.</p>
<p>Who knows, they might also be able to help <em>him</em>. Zayn loves Mythology and Liam is into comics, maybe between the two of them they can figure out why this whole ordeal has happened. Why Harry has come to life, and more importantly, how to proceed from here. </p>
<p>Even so, it doesn’t make calling them any easier. Louis knows they’re going to think he’s finally lost the plot, knows that Zayn will worry and Liam will frown but stay quiet, but what other choice does he have? He can’t allow himself to be selfish again, because look where that’s gotten him. </p>
<p>It’s time he starts thinking of what is best for Harry. </p>
<p>Even if he might be miserable on his own. </p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>In hindsight, telling his friends “can you come over because there’s someone I’d like you to meet” might not have been the best way to approach this situation. Not when Liam and Zayn are understandably giddy at the prospect of meeting someone in Louis’ life - it’s been a while since Louis had connected with someone enough for him to contemplate introducing them to his friends - and don’t quite seem to understand why Louis looks so morose when he gestures towards Harry and tells them “this is Harry.”</p>
<p>It’s Zayn who catches on first. Because of course it is. Between the three, technically four, of them, Zayn’s always been the smartest. He’s the one with potential, the one that could’ve gone on to do great things if he hadn’t decided to ‘waste’ his life on art. That was the general consensus from most people who had ever met Zayn, and Louis feels so privileged to know that there’s nothing in this world that makes Zayn as happy as art does. That people are wrong and making use of your intelligence in the traditional sense, by becoming a doctor or a big shot lawyer, isn’t all that matters. What matters is <em>heart</em> and Zayn has got as much heart as he does smarts. </p>
<p>So of course Zayn cottons on first. He cocks his head and looks at Louis and then at Harry and then back at Louis, and then he arches one perfect eyebrow and just says “Lou?” and Louis almost <em>breaks</em>. He tries to mask it, by offering them tea, but when it prompts Harry to get up and Louis to nearly flinch at that, he knows that there’s no point in fighting it. </p>
<p>So he sinks down onto the sofa instead, pressing his hands to his eyes to shield his expression from his friends, even when everything is audible in his voice. “I fucked up,” he croaks, and it’s a testament to how much they care about him that Liam and Zayn’s first instinct is to comfort him. With Zayn’s hand in his hair and Liam’s hand rubbing his back, Louis feels soothed, and though that feeling comes with relief it also comes with a hefty dose of guilt.</p>
<p>Because Harry is the one that should be comforted. He’s the one that deserves to have his hair petted and his back rubbed, the one who deserves this understanding and acceptance.</p>
<p>So he tells them. He tells them everything, with Harry standing near the doorway as though he wants to leave but isn’t quite sure he’s allowed to, which breaks Louis’ heart all over again. He tries to hold back his tears, tries to be calm and collected for Harry’s sake, but he’s not sure it doesn’t veer straight into sounding indifferent and he’s doubtful that that’s any better. </p>
<p>The room is a weighty sort of quiet, when he finishes explaining. When he’s told them all about the sculpture he’d created and how Harry had come alive - omitting the fact that he’d kissed him, because he doesn’t need to give them any more reason to think that he’s gone mad, and also, Harry doesn’t <em>know</em> and how much more painful would it be if he did - and how they’d been spending the past week living together, trying to figure out why Harry was alive and if there was a way he could become a person. It’s quiet in the strangest way, and Louis looks at the floor, at the faded carpet because it beats looking up and seeing the expression on his friends’ faces. </p>
<p>“Louis,” Zayn finally starts, and Louis grimaces. There’s so much in that one word, in that one name, and he’s always loved how they had this bond, this unspoken connection that meant that they didn’t need words, but right now just his name is enough to coax out a myriad of emotions, none of them pleasant. </p>
<p>“I’m not crazy.” He says, and Zayn huffs out a gentle sigh, resumes petting his hair as though he’s not sure what else to do. “I didn’t make this up.”</p>
<p>“He didn’t.” Harry says quietly, and Louis shouldn’t need him to come to his defense but he’s glad that he does. Even if he’s sure his friends won’t believe Harry either. “I don’t eat. I don’t bleed.” He raps his knuckles over his chest, the sound making Liam flinch and Louis almost bites back a smile. “How do you explain this?”</p>
<p>Zayn frowns, but it’s clear he doesn’t really have an answer for it. Given the time though, Louis is sure he’d be able to come up with at least ten alternate explanations. He sighs. “I can prove it,” he says quietly, risking a glance up at his friends. “Z, you know me. You know I sign my work, yeah?”</p>
<p>When Zayn gives a reluctant nod, Louis gestures towards Harry. “I signed him too. Before he came alive.” It feels weird to even acknowledge it, the little smattering of freckles in the shape of his initials. It makes his stomach churn because it’s almost as though he’s branded Harry. Marked him his. He’s not sure he’ll ever sign another sculpture again. “It’s on his left thigh. Harry, would you-”</p>
<p>He’s well aware of the fact it’s the first time he’s directly addressed Harry since their argument, and to do it with what is essentially a command doesn’t sit well with him. The fact that Harry bites his lip but immediately goes to drop the loose sweats he’s put on when Louis announced they’d be having visitors over makes it even worse. Louis wants to tell Liam and Zayn not to look. Wants to tell Harry that this should be his choice, but he stays quiet, and feels guilt warring with relief when Zayn inspects the little LT on Harry’s skin and just lets out a shocked breath. </p>
<p>“Fuck.” Zayn says, before glancing up at Harry with a soft smile. “Thank you Harry.” He looks as though he wants to reach out and touch his skin but he steps back instead, taking him in in a way that makes Louis wonder if it makes Harry uncomfortable. Zayn’s gaze can be piercing, but he knows better than anyone that it’s devoid of judgment. </p>
<p>“Yeah.” Louis agrees quietly, sneaking a glance at Liam, who just looks mildly horrified. Louis can’t exactly blame him. “So can he stay with you for a while?”</p>
<p>Zayn frowns, sits into the comfortable chair near Harry, looking at him more than he does at Louis. “Is that what you want?” He asks Harry, and it’s soft, so soft that it’s clear it’s just for him. Louis loves him an awful lot. If there’s anyone that could teach Harry to be a person, to think for himself and take his own desires into account, it’s Zayn. Zayn, who had been so used to putting his own needs on the back burner to appease the people around him. Who had learned the hard way that sometimes people just sucked you dry and never looked out for you. Zayn who had met Liam and found out how different it could be. How in the right relationship you could be selfish.</p>
<p>Harry seems unsure, still, and Louis can feel his eyes on him, can feel the hesitation in his voice as though he’s still trying to figure out what he should choose, what Louis would want him to choose. “I think so,” it’s quiet. “I think it might be better.”</p>
<p>Zayn nods, and Louis can tell even without looking at him that he’s giving Harry an encouraging smile. “Alright,” he tells him. “You can come with us then. We’ll make up the bed in the spare room for you, and you can stay as long as you want, alright?”</p>
<p>Louis tries hard not to think of how that might be forever. Of how when Harry leaves tonight, it might be the last time he’s ever been in Louis’ flat.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>Louis never realized just how <em>lonely</em> his flat is. Which is funny, because he thought he knew exactly how alone he was, once Zayn had moved out and he was used to having the space all to himself. But with Harry gone it feels like there’s just a <em>void</em>.</p>
<p>He won’t admit it to anyone, but that first night he doesn’t sleep in his own bed. He sleeps on the mattress on the floor instead, as though he can inhale a scent that was never there, because Harry might have looked human, seemed human in some regards, but he hadn’t had a scent of his own. There’s nothing in the sheets, not even marble dust, to make him feel close to him, but Louis is just pathetic enough to stay.</p>
<p>When he wakes up, at some godforsaken time in the middle of the night, because he’d gone to bed right after Harry had left, not even bothering to brush his teeth or switch off any of the lights, he wonders how the absence of something can nonetheless feel so stifling.</p>
<p>Because Harry’s there. In everything. He’s there in the way that he’s not, in that there’s no breathing, no sounds. No one for Louis to talk to, and somehow talking to the other sculptures just doesn’t feel the same now that he knows what it’s like to have one talk back.</p>
<p>It’s hard, yet somehow also easier than ever, to remember the reasons that Harry’s gone. It’s there, in the sheer loneliness that Louis feels. Loneliness that transcends these past few weeks since the engagement party if he’s honest with himself. Loneliness that he’d tried to fill with Harry, despite the fact that he’d known he’d have to say goodbye to him eventually. Granted, not in the way he’d expected to, but Harry’s gone nonetheless and it’s time for Louis to move on.</p>
<p>But it’s the middle of the night and he has to cut himself some slack, so just for a while, in his studio, surrounded by sculptures that remind him of Harry but aren’t enough to make him feel less alone, he allows himself to cry.</p>
<p>He cries for himself. For what he wants out of life and doesn’t seem to be allowed to have. He cries for Harry, who just wants to be loved and who doesn’t understand that just because Louis can’t allow himself to fall any further it doesn’t mean that there’s something wrong with him. He cries for his career, because now that he’s created Harry he’s not sure any other sculpture will ever be perfect again. But mostly he cries because he can’t <em>not</em>, because he’s lost and unsure, feeling things that in any other circumstance would be celebrated, but instead they’re clouded with guilt and more complicated than they should be. He’d started to give a bit of his heart away, in a way that he hasn’t done in years, and even though he can still feel it there in his chest, beating solidly, he feels empty, because Harry can never really love him back. And that’s no one’s fault, and Louis can’t even be angry, except with himself, for doing what he promised he wouldn’t, for losing himself in a way that he fears he can’t quite recover from. So he cries, and he cries, and the night turns into day, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this scared in his life.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>When he finally emerges from his studio, when his tears have dried and his stomach is rumbling, it takes everything he has in him to not rush over to the phone and call Zayn to ask how Harry had gotten through the night. He knows better than to speak directly to Harry, wants to give him an honest chance to experience life without him, but there’s this desire, this fire inside, that wants so desperately to hear how he’s doing. </p>
<p>He wants to tell Zayn to be careful. That Harry’s fragile. He wants to tell him that he likes singing to music, and cooking, but he doesn’t because he’s not sure if any of that is true or if it’s just what Harry wanted him to believe because he thought Louis would approve.</p>
<p>Instead he makes himself breakfast, and it tastes like cardboard, his throat too thick with grief to notice more than texture when he swallows. He drinks his tea, barely even wincing when it scalds the roof of his mouth, because at least it’ll make him feel warm for a while. </p>
<p>And then, because he is the type to lock himself away but he can’t allow himself to be the type to wallow for long, he picks up the phone and calls the quarry.</p>
<p>It still feels a little bit like betrayal, to go down to the warehouse and look at new pieces of marble, but there’s not much else he can do outside of calling his client and canceling his commission. And that would feel too much like defeat, like giving up, and Louis knows better. He’s learned better, from years of picking himself up after he falls, from seeing his friends persevere even through the hardest times. Even in the darkest of times there’s this little light in his heart, something deep inside his soul that whispers that it’ll get better, if he just holds on. </p>
<p>So he intends to. No matter how difficult the road ahead, he intends to keep going.</p>
<p>It <em>is</em> hard though. Because when he’s there at the warehouse, when he walks past rows of marble, there’s no excitement. There’s no eagerness to get started, or faith that he’ll find the right piece. There’s not even really any instinct, that tells him where to go. It’s like he’s empty. Like when Harry left he took more than just the air from Louis’ lungs, he also took his ability to see potential in things. </p>
<p>It’s stupid and self indulgent and he tries to shake it off, rests his hand on a large block, trying to feel for the shape within, but it gives him nothing. He tries another, attempting to call shapes and features to mind without connecting them to the image of Harry, but it remains frustratingly blank.</p>
<p>Louis wonders if maybe he shouldn’t start over. Should find a nice, solid piece that didn’t offend him, and go back to the drawing board. Try and figure out how to reshape his perfect man without ending up with a discount copy of Harry. </p>
<p>It isn’t like he’d been set on curly hair and green eyes, after all. Louis isn’t that shallow that his perfect man has to fit a certain look. If the perfect man he’d dreamed of, the one he’d tried to capture in marble, turned out to exist but was blonde, or even bald, with brown eyes and a beard, it wouldn’t matter because if he’d been perfect Louis would’ve loved him. </p>
<p>But even though he can think up features, he can’t bring together the whole image. Because inevitably, when he tries, he still ends up with Harry. That same sweet nose, the same dimples and smile. Right down to the knobbly knees and wonky toes; the only image his mind can ever conjure up is one that he’s never going to be able to recreate. </p>
<p>He’s a minute away from giving up when <em>something </em>makes him check out one last row of marble blocks. It’s nothing quite as strong as the feeling he’d had before, when he’d felt almost literally pulled towards a specific piece. This is softer, more like a whisper.</p>
<p>But it’s there nonetheless, when he stands in front of the piece. </p>
<p>Potential.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>Like the first time, the piece can’t be delivered right away, so Louis heads home, to his studio, to his beanbag chair and his cups of tea. He sits there with his sketchpad and he tries to think of his perfect man, tries to change everything ever so subtly so that he’s different from Harry. A longer nose. A stronger jaw. Wavy hair, as opposed to curly. Those curls had been a bitch to sculpt anyway, and even though they’d looked perfect once Harry had been finished, once he’d come alive and those curls had actually been soft, almost wispy at the very back of his neck, Louis feels like maybe he can do without them.</p>
<p>The thing is. He is supposed to put emotion into it. Longing. But he’s scared to, when that had previously landed him in the situation he’s in now. Louis can’t lose himself to a piece again. He can’t lose his heart to it, doesn’t dare to pour himself into it that much again, when he’s nowhere near healed from the first attempt.</p>
<p>But the emotion needs to be there nonetheless. Needs to be sincere. There needs to be love there.</p>
<p>He thinks of wavy hair. A strong jaw. Long eyelashes. Maybe brown eyes, or hazel.</p>
<p>His pencil moves absently over the paper, as he allows himself to focus on nothing in particular. On those little pieces, those features, that he hopes will somehow come together to form one coherent piece. He allows himself to draw and when he focuses on the paper after a little bit, he can’t help but smile a little. </p>
<p>Because he knows those features, but not intimately enough to have created them, to have dreamt about them. </p>
<p>He <em>loves </em>those features, but not enough to put his heart in danger. </p>
<p>It’s Liam’s hair. Liam, who has such a kind heart and who hasn’t let bullying harden that heart, no matter the amount of blows that had been delivered to it. </p>
<p>It’s Zayn’s jawline. Zayn, who cares so much for the people that he surrounds himself with, who would go to war for those that needed it.</p>
<p>Maybe Louis doesn’t create the kind of perfect man that he could fall in love with. Maybe he just needs to create someone in the image of people he already loves. People who aren’t perfect, but who embody all those things that Louis admires. Strength. Kindness. Perseverance. </p>
<p>Maybe that kind of love is enough.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>This time, he promises no one in particular, he isn’t going to lose himself. He’s going to set timers, take time away from the sculpture. He’s only going to work for an hour or two and then take breaks, maybe go for a walk to clear his head. It’s a plan and Louis is determined to stick to it.</p>
<p>Since it beats sitting around an empty flat, waiting for the marble that won’t be delivered for another few hours, he figures he might as well start right now, by taking a walk and getting some fresh air, getting rid of some of that nervous energy thrumming through his body. He heads out with no particular destination in mind, letting his feet wander, but somehow he isn’t surprised to find himself outside Zayn’s flat, hidden away behind a tree on the opposite side of the street because he doesn’t need to worry his friends any more than he already is.</p>
<p>He looks up at the window of what he knows is their guest room and tries hard not to feel disappointed when Harry isn’t there, somehow watching him too. It’s not like he’d expected him to be, but there’s a part of him that couldn’t help but wonder about their bond, whether Harry would feel that same magnetic pull that Louis seems to.</p>
<p>It’s a bit too cold to stay outside for long without moving, so after a few minutes, Louis forces himself to continue, to keep walking and not look back. He ends up picking up lunch from a nearby Gregg’s, a sausage roll and a jammy heart biscuit to enjoy as an afternoon treat, and by the time he’s home, on the couch with a nice cup of tea, he’s almost managed to convince himself that things are going to be alright.</p>
<p>And for the first hour or so, after the piece is delivered, it is. He has a plan, an outline of what he wants, and it’s not easy to start but it never is. Louis always worries, when he starts a new sculpture, whether or not it’s going to live up to his expectations. Whether he’s going to have to adjust as he works, when the marble isn’t working with him as well as he’d like it to. He’s used to holding his breath when he first takes the chisel to the stone, knowing that if he fucks up now he’s going to lose out on a lot of money. But the first careful tap just causes a small sliver of marble to fall to his feet, and Louis finds himself settling into his skin. He can do this. He was born to do this.</p>
<p>It’s a relief, to find himself in his work again, rather than feel lost in it. To find himself smiling as he works, because between finishing Harry and starting on this sculpture so much had happened that he’d sort of started to lose the passion he had for his art. It’s nice to find it again. To find that he can trust himself, trust his steady hands and that it will produce the image he has in his head. </p>
<p>It’s a slow process, but he’s adamant to stick to his schedule, to give himself enough time away from this sculpture so that he won’t become obsessed. </p>
<p>It’s just, he thinks, when he steps out of the studio for the first of his breaks, he hadn’t realized how lonely it would feel. Somehow, coming out of the studio, the void of Harry’s absence is more clear than before, and it takes everything he has not to pick up the phone, much like it had done this morning. </p>
<p>He almost doesn’t go for a walk, too afraid that his feet will betray him much like his heart has and he’ll end up on Zayn’s sidewalk again, staring up at an empty window. But he knows better than to give into temptation, because that’s what it is even more than reluctance. He knows that if he wavers now he’s going to be right back in his studio for hours on end, foregoing his most basic human needs in favor of work, so he forces himself outside again, but this time he is careful of where he goes, sticks to the block around his flat and only has to hold back his longing to turn onto the street that will lead him to Harry twice. </p>
<p>He rewards himself with the jammy heart biscuit he’d bought earlier this morning, and doesn’t think of how Harry would love the taste, because Harry can’t love the taste because he isn’t real, and if Louis needs to remind himself of that more often than he’d really like, then at least no one is around to notice. </p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>He figured it’d get easier. That the next morning, let alone the morning after that, would get a little bit easier every day. That he wouldn’t wake up and instinctively check the mattress by his bed - that he’s yet to clear away but at least he isn’t sleeping on it anymore, so at least that’s progress - and feel that heavy weight in his stomach when he finds it empty. That he wouldn’t wander out into the living room and have to force back a dry sob at the sight of the soft peach coloured blanket that’s been folded up on his couch and that he wants to shake out because it looks too neat like this, mocking him because it’s not been used because Louis can’t make himself pick it up when it won’t smell like Harry. </p>
<p>It doesn’t get easier. It just gets harder, every day. Even when he sticks to his schedule, even when he’s adamant about taking care of himself. It gets harder to sculpt and to make it through the days because even though he’s not losing himself in his work, he’s still lost. Lost and lonely and terrified that he’s going to be feeling this way for the rest of his life. No matter how often he tells himself that he’s just being dramatic, that he’s only properly known Harry for a little more than a week, his heart is telling him otherwise, letting on just how much of the boy he’d been carrying inside with him.</p>
<p>He’s not sure how to fix it, is the thing. Not sure if there is a way to fix it that doesn’t require time, and Louis has never been a patient man. Not unless he’s working, and he tries, hard, to apply that same patience that he has with marble to other aspects of his life, to himself, but he never quite manages. There’s always some standard that he fails to live up to, and he knows what his friends would say, that he’s fine just the way he is, but Louis doesn’t want to be <em>fine</em>. He wants to be perfect.</p>
<p>He wants to be perfect so he can be loved, and that’s a lot to unpack so he doesn’t. As long as he doesn’t have to think about it, it doesn’t have to mean anything. Because deep down he knows why he wants that. He knows all too well that there’s a part of him that thinks he needs to be perfect in order to be lovable, in order to not be a burden on those he cares for, and that’s an issue that he needs to deal with on his own, in his own time. </p>
<p>He wishes he could talk about it though, but even though the new sculpture he’s making has Liam’s hair and Zayn’s jawline, it isn’t the same as talking to his actual friends, and as much as Louis wants to talk to them, he wants to give Harry his space more. He wants Harry to have time with his friends, wants them to be his friends too, even if that is inevitably going to make things harder.</p>
<p>So he tries his best, with the things that <em>are</em> in his control. He uses his timers and his walks and he cooks and he cleans and he sculpts, and the sculpture comes along nicely even if the work is frustratingly slow and Louis feels drained and museless, and he misses Harry until his longing permeates the entire flat, and it <em>still</em> doesn’t fill the void that Harry’s left.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>He manages a week before he caves. A full week of practising self care while simultaneously telling himself no. A week of marble dust in his hair and in his lungs, of features that are becoming more pronounced until Louis feels like he misses his friends so much he can barely stand it.</p>
<p>That’s why he calls Zayn. At least, that’s what he tells himself. He calls to hear Zayn’s voice, to hear Liam’s laugh, to be reminded of how he isn’t alone. Of how there’s people that choose to love him, when Harry never got that choice.</p>
<p>He doesn’t ask. He talks to Zayn for half an hour, about the sculpture he’s making and the phone call he’d gotten from his mum yesterday, about Zayn’s art and the new commission that he’s excited about. It’s nice to hear excitement in Zayn’s voice, hear that same passion that’s always connected them when it comes to art. He talks about mundane stuff because the deep stuff is too much for a call, and they make plans to hang out, but every word that’s said is overlaid by every word that isn’t, by the melancholia and the silence that are so palpable that Louis has to swallow around them in order to get his words out. </p>
<p>He doesn’t ask. Even when their conversation drifts off into silence, even when Louis can tell that Zayn is expecting him to. He racks his brain, trying to find another topic, trying to prolong their conversation and give in to that temptation to keep him on the line a little longer because maybe at some point he’ll at least hear Harry in the background. </p>
<p>He doesn’t ask, except he finally does, because he <em>hasn’t</em> heard Harry in the background and maybe he’s  justified in asking, maybe he’d even be an asshole if he didn’t.</p>
<p>“How is he?” </p>
<p>His voice is quiet, and Zayn is quiet, and Louis bites his lip, knows that his question was loaded, even when he tried to keep his voice casual. He tries to hear his answer in the silence, in the way that Zayn hesitates. He can imagine it now. The way he’s pursed his lips, the slight frown above his eyes, the delicate set to his jaw because Zayn’s always been good at that. At phrasing things just right. If he hadn’t become a painter Louis likes to think he would’ve painted with words, become a writer or a poet because Zayn just has that gift. He also knows that Zayn will be honest, even if he knows Louis might not like hearing it. It’s why he asks him, and not Liam, who will always try his hardest not to hurt anyone. </p>
<p>“I’m not sure I should tell you,” is what Zayn settles on after a moment and Louis understands that but he knows himself well enough to know he can’t accept that answer. His quiet <em>please</em> makes Zayn sigh, but it’s soft, and, Louis likes to imagine, fond. “For either of your sakes.”</p>
<p>Louis frowns, chews on his thumb. “Is he hurting?” There’s a brief stab of something that almost feels vindictive, but he feels guilt colouring it the moment he’s acknowledged the emotion. He shouldn’t feel glad that Harry is hurting. None of this was his fault. If he’d been happy to be away from Louis it would be no more than he deserves. Than either of them deserve.</p>
<p>Zayn hums noncommittally, and Louis tries to apply some of his limited patience, tries to breathe and not ask, not let on just how desperately he wants to know because he thinks Zayn might try and protect both of them and keep him away if he knows just how messed up Louis still is. So he stays quiet, and Zayn finally lets out a soft grunt, what feels like hours into the most thick and awkward silence Louis has ever experienced. “Lou,” he starts, and it sounds wary, worn, and Louis frowns at the floor because it says so much, and none of it is good.</p>
<p>But Zayn doesn’t say anything else, and Louis can’t leave it at that. “Please,” he begs again, knowing he sounds desperate and pathetic, but also knowing that Zayn would never judge him for it. Hurt for him, yes, but Zayn doesn’t judge, even when he’d be right to do so. “I just need to know he’s doing okay. That we made the right choice.”</p>
<p>If he knows that they did, then maybe it’ll be easier from here on out. Harry deserves Louis doing the right thing. No matter how painful it is right now, if it’s the right thing Louis will be able to stick to it. For Harry’s sake. </p>
<p>There’s another soft sound, and then Louis can hear Zayn getting up, shuffling through the flat. He only has to close his eyes to see the image, years of living with his best friend making it easy to conjure up the way he moves, likely heading into his bedroom to keep anyone from listening in. “Listen,” Zayn says after a moment, and it sounds muted, like the room he’s in wants to hold in his voice, wants to keep secrets. “I’d love to tell you that. I’d love to say that things are going well. Believe me, I would. Because I do think that this is the right thing. I think that his attachment to you is unhealthy, albeit explainable, and I think your obsession with him is borderline frightening.” </p>
<p>Louis smiles an almost bitter smile, though he’s glad for it, for the candor Zayn graces him with. The way he refuses to sugarcoat it, because it’ll help exactly neither of them. He stays quiet, knowing there’s more to come. </p>
<p>“I’d love for the both of you to have time to figure out what to do from here, because as much as I love Mythology, there’s not exactly a basis for this in real life, and I’ve got no idea what’s supposed to happen. I’ve got no clue whether or not Harry is going to stay alive indefinitely, or how we’re going to magically turn him human, but-” he sighs, and Louis envisions him pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’s not doing well, Lou. He’s cold.”</p>
<p>Louis frowns. “I mean, that makes sense.” He says reluctantly. “He doesn’t really know you that well. He’s only known me, and I didn’t exactly treat him the best. It makes sense that he’s wary.”</p>
<p>Zayn makes another noise. “No.” He says quietly. “That’s - he’s cold Lou. <em>Literally</em>. I don’t know how to explain it, and I don’t know what’s going on, but, the Harry that we took home a week ago was different. He was almost human. The one that we’ve got here right now - the past two mornings I’ve woken up wondering if he’d even be able to move anymore.”</p>
<p>It’s instant, the fear clawing up his throat, wrapping dark tendrils around his heart and squeezing, until Louis feels like he can’t breathe. Like oxygen has been sucked out of the room and his lungs can’t expand, can’t do anything but burn. It’s real and it’s visceral and Louis nearly drops the phone, his hands shaking so badly. “What-” he asks, and then “how?” because somehow he expects Zayn to have the answers.</p>
<p>Somehow Zayn always <em>does</em> have the answers. He’s reluctant to continue, Louis can tell, he sighs and he makes another noise but Louis doesn’t rush him even if it’s just because he’s still struggling to breathe. “I think he might need you.” Zayn says, and Louis feels his heart clench even more. “I think it’s the absolute <em>worst</em> idea in the world, but, I think he might need to be around you to be okay.” </p>
<p>It’s the opposite of what he had hoped would happen. What he <em>should</em> have hoped would happen, at least, because there’s a part of him that can’t help but feel eager at the thought of having Harry back. “You’re - you think he’s alive because of me? <em>Only</em> because of me?”</p>
<p>His voice sounds thick and Zayn must be able to tell, because there’s a soft, almost hitched breath before he responds. “This isn’t right, Lou.” He says softly. “You can’t - it’s not fair that he’s connected to you somehow. You owe it to him to figure it out. Because he needs to be able to exist when you’re not around. He’s not - I know he’s not human, and I don’t know if he’ll ever be, but he deserves better than this.”</p>
<p>Louis swallows. “I know.”</p>
<p>“And so do you.” Zayn adds, quieter still. “You know I love you, yeah? I want that perfect kind of love for you. But I want it to come from someone who chooses to love you.” He sighs. “It’d be better for everyone if Harry wasn’t around you, but, unless you want him to revert to being a statue-”</p>
<p>“Do you think he would?” Louis asks, swallowing back the initial desperate <em>no</em> that he wants to say, even if he almost chokes on it. It shouldn’t be his choice, he thinks. It should be Harry’s. But he’s not sure if he trusts Harry’s decisions any more now than he did a week ago.</p>
<p>“I don’t know.” Zayn says. “I worry that he might, but there’s not exactly any precedent here, Louis. We don’t know what will happen. Maybe he’ll be okay, in a little while, but I don’t know if we want to risk that. I - he’s a good guy, Lou. He deserves a chance. I think you should come and talk to him.”</p>
<p>Louis bites his lip. “What if he decides he doesn’t want to see me? Doesn’t want to come back with me?”</p>
<p>It’s a real fear, and Louis is glad that Zayn doesn’t dismiss it. “He might.” He says gently. “But he should know that he has a choice, at least. I’m not too sure that he does, right now. Know, that is. I think he might think you don’t want to see him again. That you wanted him to leave because it was better for you. And it <em>was</em>. You can’t lose yourself in this fantasy, Louis. I need you to promise me that. If he comes back with you, it’s going to have to be different.”</p>
<p>Louis feels chastised, but he still nods, like Zayn can see him. “I’m scared,” he tells him quietly. “Scared that he will still make decisions based on what I want, and scared that I won’t know the difference. How - Zayn, how will I ever be able to tell? How will I know that he’s not just saying what he thinks I want to hear?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know.” To his credit, Zayn sounds a bit annoyed at that, like he <em>should</em> know. “This isn’t ideal, Lou. I don’t think a week’s been enough to change Harry’s entire mindset. But I also think that we don’t really have a choice. We need to do <em>something</em> if we want Harry to stay alive, and that means we’re just going to have to make the best out of a bad situation. Just - you won’t need to do it alone this time, yeah? Me and Liam are going to be right there, and we’re going to help you. We’ll figure it out, the four of us.” He pauses. “Somehow.”</p>
<p>Louis can’t help but snort, rubs at his forehead, a headache coming on at the mere prospect of having to go through all this again. Of having to second guess every interaction, every brief moment between them. But Zayn’s right. He doesn’t have a choice. The only one who has a choice is Harry, and this time, Louis will have to listen to it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The idea of seeing Harry again shouldn’t make him so giddy, but it does. There’s a lightness he feels in his heart that he can’t dismiss, as much as he knows he shouldn’t be feeling it. It’s not like he’s getting Harry back, it’s not like anything has really <em>changed</em>.</p>
<p>But at least he knows better now. At least he won’t allow himself to fall for him, to express his fondness in a way that transcends friendship. He’s not going to cuddle him, or allow Harry to do all those things that he might think Louis wants from him. </p>
<p>It sounds sad, and lonely, and the last thing Louis wants is to do anything that will hurt Harry, but he can’t put either of them in that situation again. Not as long as he can’t trust Harry.</p>
<p>Not as long as he can’t trust <em>himself</em>.</p>
<p>The fact that he dresses up is tangible proof of just how much he can’t trust himself, if the last few days with Harry hadn’t been enough of an indication, and he knows that Zayn will know, knows that he’ll look at him in that way that he does, saying so much without ever uttering a single word. His worry is easy to bear though, when Louis’ sole focus is on Harry. On the things he’ll say, the words he’ll need to find to convince him to come back home with him. </p>
<p>He’s nearly jumping out of his skin by the time he rings the doorbell to Zayn and Liam’s place, finds himself shifting his weight from one leg to the other because standing still when he feels so jittery is almost impossible. </p>
<p>At least, until Zayn opens the door and wordlessly draws him in for a hug. It’s easy then, to be still, even though he feels as though he’s literally been shocked into it, has been slammed back into his body with such force that his ears are ringing and his eyes are stinging. </p>
<p>It takes him a moment to hug Zayn back, and he’s not surprised to find that his hands are shaking when he rests them on Zayn’s back. There’s a lump in his throat and he’s not sure how there are still tears left to cry when he’s been crying himself to sleep most nights, but something about the gentle way that Zayn holds him - the way that he feels <em>safe</em> in those arms, like he’s finally found a buoy after being adrift on an ocean for weeks - makes him swallow down a sob. </p>
<p>“It’s going to be okay,” Zayn whispers, and Louis wants to believe him so badly. He just nods, clings to Zayn in a way that he’d feel embarrassed about with anyone else. But Zayn doesn’t make fun of him for it, doesn’t pull away until Louis can feel himself relaxing against him, caving into the embrace completely. </p>
<p>“I’m scared.” His voice sounds thick, and the lump in his throat seems to only grow, even when he pulls back to wipe at his eyes. He’s said it on the phone before, but it bears repeating. He’s so scared that things will only get worse once Harry comes back. He’s scared that Harry will resent him, for bringing him to life, or for being the thing that kept him tethered to it. He wishes he knew a way to give Harry his freedom. </p>
<p>Zayn brushes his fringe from his forehead in a way that feels so soothing that it almost prompts fresh tears, but Louis manages to blink them away just in time to see a gentle smile. “I know,” Zayn says, trading his smile for a frown. “But I wouldn’t have said anything unless I didn’t have another choice.”</p>
<p>Louis swallows. “Is he really that bad?”</p>
<p>There’s a soft sigh, and then Zayn steps backwards, giving him a chance to move into the flat. “I think you should see for yourself.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>It’s eerie, how much he’s reminded of the last time. Of how he’d gone into the studio, to find Harry curled up in a corner, looking lost and sad and only coming out because Louis wanted him to. He tries to convince himself that this time it will be different, but if he’s truly honest with himself he knows it won’t be. It’s only been a week. How much could Harry have changed?</p>
<p>Outwardly, a lot, apparently. It’s clear the moment Louis sets foot inside the room, finds the curtains drawn and Harry on his back on the bed. He’s staring up at the ceiling and where there were expressions before, even if they weren’t subtle, his face looks blank now, not even the expression that Louis had sculpted remaining. There are no creases on his face, no frown or dimple. His hair isn’t fanned out in soft tendrils over the pillow. It looks perfectly in place in a way that isn’t natural. Louis knows, without reaching out, that it will feel cold, sculpted instead of soft, with no separate tendrils to run his fingers through. </p>
<p>He stays by the door, like the coward that he is. </p>
<p>“Harry?”</p>
<p><em>It’s too late</em>, his mind screams. He’d called too late. Zayn had been wrong, they’d both waited too long. </p>
<p>He’s not sure his heart is even beating until Harry turns his head, so slow that it looks to take a lot of effort. His face is blank still, and his eyes are almost empty when he finally manages to catch his gaze. It takes everything Louis has not to avert his eyes, or maybe sink down on his knees and beg for his forgiveness. He forces his knees to hold instead, to not buckle down under the weight of the situation. “Hi Haz.” It’s quiet, small, and he would give anything for some semblance of a response, even if it was disgust or outright hatred etched onto his face. Even if Harry would tell him to go. It’s preferable to this nothingness that Louis has lived with for the past week, that void that is there still, even now that Harry is right here in front of him. </p>
<p>“Louis.” It’s quiet, <em>empty</em> in a way that makes Louis wonder how he’s ever going to get back from this. He shifts, pushes himself away from the door to crouch down by the bed, fingers itching to reach out though he holds back.</p>
<p>“I’m here.” He whispers, looking him over. This beautiful boy that looks nothing and everything like the sculpture he’d made. He looks <em>wrong</em>. Washed of all colour. Washed of all <em>emotion</em>, like he’d tried to get rid of everything that made him <em>him</em>. Of everything that Louis had infused him with. And was that it? Was that why he was so much more a statue now? Because he’d tried to purge himself of everything that Louis had poured into him? Was he nothing, without Louis’ humanity? “Harry, I’m so sorry.” He barely manages to get the words out, wishes he had the right words, the right <em>anything</em> to fix this. “I didn’t know.” He whispers. “I’m so sorry.”</p>
<p>Harry is so pale, and Louis wants to reach out and hold his hands, rub some warmth into his skin. He just shifts again instead, sits down on the bed because if distance had caused this then maybe proximity was going to help. Even if he’s not touching him, maybe the warmth of his skin will somehow transfer to Harry’s, give his body some colour again. </p>
<p>“I’m turning back into a statue,” Harry says after a minute, and Louis almost wants to laugh because he’s aware, but he just makes a soft sound instead, one that makes Harry look at him. “Is that why you’re here?” His words are slow, unnaturally so, and Louis knows better than to pretend they’re coming easier now, doesn’t trust his eyes or his ears that try to convince him that it’s getting a little better, that he can still <em>fix</em> this. He just looks down, and nods, because it <em>is</em> why he’s here but also he’d have been here a week ago, begging Harry to come back, if he hadn’t been so sure that being here was what Harry needed. </p>
<p>He fidgets with the blanket. It’s the wrong colour and the wrong material, and he wishes he’d have let Harry bring the soft blanket from his flat. “I didn’t know,” he repeats, his words sounding hollow. “I didn’t- Zayn told me, when I called.” He frowns. “I don’t know why he didn’t tell me before. If I’d known it would’ve been like this-”</p>
<p>“I didn’t let him.” Harry says, and Louis’ fingers still. He looks up at him, wishes desperately he could read <em>anything</em> in his expression. But it remains frustratingly blank, even when Harry continues. “I only caved this morning.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” He tries to sound neutral, but he knows better than to think he’s fooling anyone. It’s loaded, full of thoughts and worries that he can’t express but that are there in that small sound, in his expression. Like he’s compensating for Harry.</p>
<p>Harry, who almost seems to smile a little bit. “I didn’t want you to worry.” He says, and then gives a minute frown. “No. That’s not really it. I didn’t want - I wasn’t sure, if you wanted me to come back.” </p>
<p>Louis’ heart sinks. “What changed your mind?” He asks carefully.</p>
<p>“I thought of how easy it would be,” Harry continues as though he hasn’t heard him, monotone tone giving something eerie to his words, making Louis repress a shiver. “To give into it. To feel that cold within me and let it overtake me. To let it spread, until I was solid again. <em>Whole</em>. I want to be whole, Louis.” He looks at him and Louis meets his pale green eyes, because he feels it’s the least Harry deserves. “I knew at least part of you would be happy too. It’d solve both our problems.”</p>
<p>Louis swallows thickly. He feels chastised, because even though Harry’s not asking him, he knows they both know that he’s right. That it would be easier, in a way. Even if he’d never be able to sell Harry, even if he’d always keep him in his studio and in his heart, it would still be <em>over</em>. He glances back down at the sheets, forcing his mouth to form words like he’s the one made of marble. “So this is goodbye then?”</p>
<p>It’s minute, the way Harry shifts, but it’s enough for his pinkie to brush against Louis’ hand. His skin is cold as ice, hard as stone, and Louis has to blink a few times to get rid of the tears in his eyes. “When I started thinking about letting myself become a statue again… I didn’t know if I wanted it to happen because it hurt too much to be anything else, or if I wanted to be a statue because I thought that’s what you wanted.” Harry whispers. “I still want to do what you want.”</p>
<p>Those last words make Louis fight against his tears, against the desire to scream and the sinking feeling in his stomach, this nausea because he’d known it was too much to ask from Harry, but knowing that nothing had changed and he was still deciding things based on what he thought he wanted - </p>
<p>He wonders how wrong it is, to let Harry decide to become a statue again because of him. Wonders if he should argue with him, tell him that it’s not what he wants. That he wants him to stay alive, even if there’s a part of him that wonders if it wouldn’t be better this way. Because he’s not sure if he’s strong enough to have Harry come back home, to put them both back into the same situation as before. Part of him wants to run and hide, wants to find a way out of this before he loses himself even more.</p>
<p>Another part of him wants to convince Harry that life is worth it nonetheless, but he can’t make his mouth work because anything he says is just going to sway Harry, is just going to make it <em>his</em> decision rather than Harry’s own, and Louis isn’t any more sure of what the right decision is than he’d been the first time around. So he just sits there instead, trying to blink away tears, to swallow down the lump in his throat and the desire to ask Zayn to hold him again, even if he isn’t the one that deserves compassion right now. </p>
<p>Harry stays quiet, as though everything has been said with his timid confession, and maybe it has been. Louis knows that he should muster up the courage to say goodbye, to let Harry go, but he finds that the words stay stuck in his throat. All he can do is focus on Harry’s hand instead, on how it’s close enough to reach out and take it. He wants to. Even if his skin is cold, he wants to take it in his own, feel the last twitch of Harry’s fingers before he succumbs. </p>
<p>But he doesn’t, because he can’t make himself move. He can’t glance up, or say anything to make this better, he can only sit there and feel <em>numb</em>, like he’s the one whose feelings have been stripped. </p>
<p>There’s a soft, shivery exhale, coming from the statue on the bed. It sounds almost pained, and Louis wonders if it hurts Harry, having his lungs turn back to stone. Having every part of his body become heavy marble.</p>
<p>“I want to be whole, Louis.” It sounds thick, and Louis finds himself nodding even though he’s not sure what Harry means by it. He finds that it doesn’t matter, that some core part of his soul understands, and that the majority of his being just wants to ease this transition, not worry Harry with what he’s leaving behind.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry.” It’s barely more than a whisper, and this time Louis finds the strength to look up, to frown at Harry because he’s not sure he’s the one that warrants an apology. He wants to say something, but before he can attempt to find the right words, Harry shifts a bit, using his remaining strength to push himself up. Louis wants to tell him not to, wants to tell him to be careful, but he only reaches out to steady him instead, trying not to wince at how cold Harry feels underneath his touch. “Lou-”</p>
<p>Louis wants to shake his head, tell him to save his strength, though for what he isn’t sure. But Harry doesn’t let him, catches his eyes and shuts him up without ever even saying anything. It’s there again, that minute smile that he swore couldn’t be there. The gentle expression, a mere hint of one, as he continues. “I know you want me to be a statue again, but-” </p>
<p>That one little word somehow worms its way inside, clinging to the smallest bit of hope left in his body. He doesn’t dare to breathe. “But?”</p>
<p>Harry swallows audibly. “I can’t, Louis.” He whispers, and there’s so much hurt and <em>guilt</em> in his voice that it makes him sick to his stomach. He can hear his heart pounding in his ears, and it takes everything he has to focus on Harry’s words. “I want to do what you want. But I <em>can’t</em>. I’ve seen how life can be. I’ve seen how <em>love</em> can be. I can’t give up on that.”</p>
<p>Louis swallows too, tries not to flinch when a cold hand circles his wrist, gives it a soft squeeze. “But you-” he starts, and then stops when that hand squeezes again, a little tighter this time.</p>
<p>“I know.” Harry says, and Louis feels relieved for about a second that at least one of them seems to know what’s going on, because he’s quite sure that he doesn’t, his ears are ringing too badly for anything to make sense right now. “I know what you’re thinking, what you’re worried about. That I still want you to love me. That I still want to be allowed to love you.” He pauses, long enough for Louis to look up again, to see the small frown on his face. “And I <em>do</em>. But in these past few days, thinking about everything, I’ve realized that as much as I want that, there’s something else I want more.” His frown fades, makes way for a small, almost hopeful smile. “I didn’t fully realize it until this morning, until I told Zayn it was okay to tell you, but - I want to be <em>alive</em>, Louis. Even if I’m not human, I want to live. I want to know what it’s like to exist as more than an extension of you, as more than an interpretation of who you want me to be.” His words come a little faster now, passion spurring him on. “I want to know what that’s like, and I’m <em>sorry</em> if that’s not what you want, I’m sorry if you don’t want me to come back with you, but I can’t be a statue again.” Harry lets out this quiet, hurt sound. “Please don’t make me be a statue again.”</p>
<p>The rushing in his ears gets so intense that he can barely think, and for a moment he can only sit there, sure that this can’t be real. That any minute now he’s going to wake up, in his own flat, in his own bed, alone. He’s going to curse himself for dreaming about Harry again and he’s going to once again promise himself that it’s going to get better because this can’t be <em>real</em>. </p>
<p>But the bed feels real underneath his touch and Harry’s eyes have returned to that specific shade of green that Louis’ dreams can never do justice. He could drown in those eyes, he thinks absently, and even when the words take a beat too long to really sink in, he finds his body responding before his mind has caught up, finds himself reaching out for Harry and covering the hand on his wrist. “This is what <em>you</em> want.” He whispers, fingertips giving in to impulse and stroking over Harry’s knuckles. He swears they feel a little bit warmer now, like all they’d needed was his touch. “Regardless of anything, this is what <em>you</em> want. I - <em>of course</em>, Harry.”</p>
<p>He doesn’t know what it means for them, if anything, but how can he say no, how can he force him into something when he’s just made a decision for the first time in his life?</p>
<p>Holy shit, Harry’s just made a decision <em>for the first time in his life.</em></p>
<p>Louis is sure that his expression shows just how shocked he is, because there’s a small smile on Harry’s face, an almost tender nod. “That void within me, I want to fill it up.” Harry says earnestly. “With love.” He gives Louis’ wrist another squeeze. “But I can learn to accept that it isn’t going to be your love, Louis. I can, I <em>want</em> to be able to fill up that void inside of me with other things. With things that I love and things that I am. Maybe, at some point, with someone who will love me for who I am. But until then, I want to learn to at least love myself for who I am.”</p>
<p>“I think I’m going to cry now,” Louis announces thickly, and that sparks a soft laugh from Harry, and another one from just behind the door. Of course Zayn would be listening in, Louis thinks, but he knows why. Knows that he isn’t just protecting him but also making sure that Harry is alright, and Louis truly loves him an awful lot. Harry just gives him a look, eyebrow slightly raised even though that still looks to be a struggle, and Louis sheepishly wipes away the tears that have already stained his cheek. “Well, <em>more</em>.” He amends. </p>
<p>“Are you okay with this?” Harry asks, and he’s almost fidgeting now, glancing away from Louis. Louis feels a stab of agony on Harry’s behalf; he can’t imagine how hard it must be for him to make a decision on his own for the very first time, let alone one that he thinks might hurt the one person he was created to love, it’s no wonder he feels in need of reassurance. </p>
<p>So he leans in and he tips Harry’s chin up with his hand, coaxes him into meeting his eyes though he doesn’t force him. This too, ultimately, is Harry’s decision. “Yes.” He says softly, finding to his relief that he means it. “It’s - I would’ve tried to do what you decided, but, honestly, I don’t know how I’d have coped with saying goodbye to you, unless I could’ve been sure that it was your decision. But this - Harry, I’m so relieved. This is all I wanted.” He swallows. “For you to have a chance at a life of your own. At a happy ending. You deserve that, darling. You deserve your fairytale ending.”</p>
<p><em>Even if it’s not going to be with me</em>. He doesn’t say that. Nothing good can come from saying it. Zayn is right. Louis’ obsession with Harry isn’t healthy. He’s been trying not to think about it too much in the past week, but it’s crept up on him nonetheless. The question whether what he felt for Harry before he left was in any way genuine. Because how could it be, when Harry wasn’t genuine? When he was everything Louis could want in a man but none of that made him <em>Harry</em>? </p>
<p>Harry deserves better than that. He deserves to find out who he is and be loved for <em>that</em>. To be found irresistible and perfect, but not because someone had created him to be so. He deserved for someone’s love to be a choice, and Louis doesn’t know if either of them truly ever had much of a choice in loving one another.</p>
<p>He doesn’t say any of that though, thinks maybe a fresh start is in order for the both of them. And Harry seems so relieved. So full of life, now that Louis has given him permission to exist, and it’s not perfect yet but it’s a good start. He looks bright eyed, a small but noticeable flush to his cheeks, and when he brushes a tiny kiss over Louis’ thumb his lips don’t feel so cold and solid anymore. “You do too,” Harry says softly. “And I’m going to help you find it, okay? You help me figure out who I am, and I’ll help you find true love in return.”</p>
<p>Louis smiles a little bit. “I’d like that.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>The last thing Louis wants is to fall back into old patterns, so as much as part of him had enjoyed the prospect of sharing a room with Harry, he figures it’s probably best if they find an alternate solution. </p>
<p>It comes in the form of a soft smile, of Harry dragging the mattress into the studio before Louis has even said a word, and Louis tries his hardest not to feel disappointed because this is Harry making decisions and it’s not meant to be a personal rejection even if it stings. Thankfully there’s a genuine part of him that feels happy, upon seeing the expression on Harry’s face. </p>
<p>“I love this place,” he sighs out, smiling as he takes his time going around the room, greeting every sculpture. “It feels like home.” And Louis supposes that it is, that it’s the only home Harry has ever known aside from when he’d been taken out of the quarry.</p>
<p>Harry’s smile fades when he comes to stand in front of the block of marble that’s eventually supposed to be another version of Louis’ perfect man. He cocks his hip and stares at it, lips pursed and a small frown knitting his eyebrows together. </p>
<p>Louis stands next to him, after folding up the blankets on the bed - having brought the soft peach blanket from the living room simply because he knows Harry loves it and he wants him to feel at home, wants him to be comfortable now that he’s not spending his nights with Louis. “Are you okay?” It’s quiet, and he tries to keep his voice neutral, wanting Harry to know it was okay to feel however he did, and express those feelings. He thinks that might be the key to all this. Communication.</p>
<p>“This is him, isn’t it?” Harry mirrors Louis’ quiet voice in a way that’s almost disconcerting. Louis glances at the sculpture, at the rough way he’d outlined the shapes before he’d started in on the face, carving out features that were recognizable to him because he could see the potential in them, but that probably looked rough and unfinished to Harry. </p>
<p>Louis wants to reach out to Harry, wants to check with his fingertips how he’s doing because he’s used to touch, to using his fingers as an extension of his eyes. He reaches for the sculpture instead, for the half finished bicep that he’d struggled to make realistic. “What do you think?” He ventures carefully. </p>
<p>Harry purses his lips even further. “I want to hate it.” He says, and it’s so sincere that Louis audibly swallows down a laugh. The noise causes Harry to look away from the sculpture, towards him, and his frustration melts away at seeing the expression on Louis’ face. “I feel like I can’t compete with him,” he admits softly, biting his lip. </p>
<p>Louis shakes his head. “You can’t,” he says softly. “Because you’re <em>real</em>, Haz, and he’s not. He’s not ever going to be real.” He gestures towards the sculpture. “This is just a project. You’re-”</p>
<p>“Exactly what he was.” Harry interrupts softly. “A month or so ago, I was exactly like that. Unfinished. Unmoving. Yet here we are. Here <em>I</em> am.” He glances at the sculpture, almost scowls. “Who’s to say that he won’t come to life just like me?”</p>
<p>There’s jealousy in his voice and part of Louis feels thrilled at it, though he brushes that aside in favor of focusing on Harry’s clear discomfort. “He won’t.” He says softly. “Harry, look at me. I promise, he won’t.” Even if he did, Louis can’t imagine caring for him the way he does for Harry, because he’s been careful, about not losing himself. The warning has been there in the eyes that he sculpted on the second day, eyes that remind him of Zayn’s, because he needed something to hold him accountable. He hasn’t created his perfect lover, he’s been creating the person that he needs to keep him on the straight and narrow. </p>
<p>“You don’t know that.” Harry whispers, and Louis wants to promise him the world when he looks at him the way he does. “We still don’t know how it happened. How one minute I was stone and the next I was - whatever I am now.”</p>
<p>Louis swallows, finds it easier to avert his eyes, even when he can feel Harry’s lingering on him.</p>
<p>“Louis?”</p>
<p>Fuck. Louis glances at the ground, at Harry’s socks, at his big toe that’s half poking through one of the holes. He’s not sure why that’s so adorable, that even though now Harry is finally wearing clothes there’s still a part of him that’s apparently bursting to break free. He can’t focus on it too much though, knows that Harry is expecting an answer. Knowing that he <em>deserves</em> one, even if he can barely make his mouth form the words. He inhales, but it still feels as though there’s not enough oxygen in his lungs. “Ikissedyou.” </p>
<p>He can practically <em>hear</em> Harry blink. “What?” </p>
<p>It’s a <em>what did you say</em> kind of what, not a <em>what the fuck did you just say</em> kind of what, which makes all the difference in the world but it still doesn’t make repeating himself any easier. </p>
<p>“I kissed you.” He repeats, struggling to lift his head and meet Harry’s eyes, though there’s no immediate disdain in his expression. “The night before - I’d gone out with mates, and I got drunk, and there was this guy, in the bar, and I tried to hook up with him, I needed to feel something <em>real</em> but he wasn’t-” he swallows, mouth feeling like it’s full of ash, something bitter and suffocating. “He wasn’t you, and I know how messed up it was to even think it, because you weren’t real either, you were a sculpture and I’d clearly lost my mind, but I came home and instead of sleeping it off, I came here.” He looks at the new sculpture now, at where it’s placed exactly where Harry was. “You looked lovely in the moonlight, and I <em>loved</em> you.”</p>
<p>Harry doesn’t say anything, and Louis feels so naked, standing next to him, thinks that Harry must probably be really relieved that he can choose not to love Louis anymore, because who would love someone who was so clearly out of touch with reality. </p>
<p>“So no,” he swallows, voice wobbly even when he continues, “it won’t be happening again, because I learned my lesson and I’m not about to repeat that mistake and lay another one on some poor, unconsenting sculpture.” His feeble attempt at diffusing the tension with humor is clearly not received too well, because Harry looks at him and narrows his eyes. Louis has to resist the urge to gulp.</p>
<p>“Mistake?” It’s quiet, so quiet, in a way that feels devastating. </p>
<p>Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, Louis is just great at this, isn’t he? Can he get through one conversation without hurting Harry? Is that too much to ask?</p>
<p>He swallows again. “From my perspective, it wasn’t exactly the smartest thing I’ve ever done,” he says carefully. “It doesn’t, I’m not saying that I regret that you’re here, alive. Just - I’ve always done a pretty good job at pretending that I was alright. Kissing you, everything that’s happened since, it’s made me see some of the issues I’ve managed to blind myself to. I’m not, it’s not easy, to be confronted with that.” He can see the frown on Harry’s face morphing into something more gentle, and it makes it easier to breathe. “I guess it’s good though. There’s some things that I’ve started to realize that I definitely want to work on.”</p>
<p>Harry hums. “Like what?”</p>
<p>As with most intimate conversations, Louis finds it easier to look away, from prying eyes who might see right into his soul. It’s hard enough opening up to people, it’s near impossible when he feels so vulnerable and <em>seen</em>. “I always thought I’d be ready, for love. That when the right man came around, I’d jump on the chance.” He looks at Harry, giving him a small sheepish smile. “And I know that things with you, obviously they’re different. There’s the whole ethical side to it, of how neither of us ever really got a choice in whether or not to love each other, how you were perfect because I wanted you to be and not because of who you were as a person, and how who I cared about might not be who you turn out to be but-” he shrugs his shoulder, glances away and then back at him. “There’s also the fact that for as much as part of me enjoyed having you romance me, there was another part of me that wanted to run straight for the hills.”</p>
<p>“Why do you think that is?” Harry cocks his head, and Louis has the vague feeling that he should be talking about all this to a therapist, not to someone who had such intricate feelings that were so closely tied to his. But then, who would understand better than the person who had literally come alive because of his emotions?</p>
<p>He picks up one of his chisels, just to give himself something to do, feels the handle, solid and reliable in his palm. Like an extension of him, following his every lead, and Louis wishes that life were a bit more like that. Able to succumb to his will. “Because,” he says quietly, focusing on the sculpture again, on Zayn’s eyes that are kind and understanding. </p>
<p>“As scary as the thought of letting you love me would’ve been, it was nothing compared to the thought of you <em>not </em>loving me anymore, once you learned who you were and what you wanted.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Although the words hang between them for most of the rest of the day, they don’t continue their conversation beyond that point. Louis is relieved when Harry just nods, drops the subject, even though he isn’t sure that it’s Harry’s discomfort as much as it is him being conscious of just how uncomfortable Louis is. But considering their past, considering everything that had happened and just how closely tied their emotions were - and how that factored into what was real and what wasn’t - it’s probably a good thing that they leave the rest unsaid.</p>
<p>It’s all a little too complicated anyway, especially now that they are supposed to figure out how Harry can stay alive. They hadn’t made much progress in that before, but Louis hopes that this time things will be different. </p>
<p>One thing that is different, at least, is Louis’ muse. Although his first day without Harry had proven that it was a little easier to sculpt than he’d anticipated, the past week had slowly drained him from his muse, had made it so that every little bit of progress felt stifled and not true to his soul. He’d found himself too careful, not to lose himself into it, and in turn it had made everything he’d sculpted feel lifeless, like the marble had been too unforgiving and the sculpture would never come close to expressing any genuine emotion.</p>
<p>With Harry there, it suddenly feels easy again. Like a few times before, he’s made himself at home, sitting in Louis’ beanbag chair, watching him work. He’s still scowling at the sculpture every so often, but he doesn’t seem too upset, seems to understand that Louis isn’t trying to create someone to replace him. At least, Louis hopes so. He knows that there are more conversations to have, but for a while, as he works, he finally doesn’t feel the weight of them pressing on his shoulders.</p>
<p>He makes more progress in two hours than he’d done in almost an entire day the past week, and when he finally puts down his chisel and wipes away the dust he’s pleased to see Zayn’s jawline, or as close as he can come to the real thing. </p>
<p>Harry gets up to stand next to him once Louis has stepped down, appraising the sculpture with narrowed eyes, and Louis would laugh but he doesn’t want Harry to think that he’s making fun of him or his emotions, so instead he just steps aside and lets him look at the sculpture, trying not to feel too vulnerable at having his work critiqued when it’s nowhere near done. There’s always something personal about that, about letting someone see something when it wasn’t finished, but he finds that with Harry he doesn’t mind as much. </p>
<p>“He looks good.” Harry says grudgingly, and Louis bites on his bottom lip to keep from smiling. It sounds like it’s hard for Harry to say something positive, and as much as Louis wants to tease him he thinks Harry might feel vulnerable too. </p>
<p>“Do you recognize anything?” He asks instead and when Harry shifts to inspect the sculpture from a bit closer, Louis tries not to feel too endeared. He fails hopelessly when Harry scowls again. </p>
<p>“No.” He says, and he raises his chin before looking at Louis. “He doesn’t look like me.” He sounds almost defiant when he says it, and Louis can’t suppress a smile this time.</p>
<p>He steps closer, feathers his fingers over the jaw he’s just sculpted. “You’re right,” he says softly. “He doesn’t. He’s not supposed to, H.”</p>
<p>Harry frowns, watching Louis’ fingers brush over the marble. “Why not? You’re meant to create your perfect man.” He falters, glances away. “Am I not your perfect man?”</p>
<p>It’s a loaded question, and Louis almost wishes that he’d kept his mouth shut because he’s not sure that answering it won’t open up a whole other can of worms that he’s not ready to answer. “Perfection’s about more than just the physical,” he starts, careful but only because he’s trying to find the right words to explain. “Which is hard, because obviously, with a sculpture, the physical is all you see. I’ve given up on what lies beneath the surface, and instead just focused on beauty.”</p>
<p>“So you’re saying he’s going to be prettier than I am?” </p>
<p>Louis suppresses another smile. The jealousy is palpable between them, and he finds himself reaching out even though he’d promised himself he wouldn’t touch Harry so easily anymore, brushing his fingers over Harry’s jaw the way he’d done to the sculpture. Harry continues to look at it, more like <em>scowl</em>, if Louis is honest, while Louis explains. “When I thought about what I wanted my perfect man to look like, this time around, all I could think about was you,” he says honestly. “But I didn’t want to make a replica of you. For one, it wouldn’t work. Anyone I created would be a pale imitation. For another, I already made and lost you once, I wasn’t sure I could do it again.”</p>
<p>He swallows, glances away when he can feel Harry looking at him. Hears his quiet “Louis..”</p>
<p>“I know,” he says quickly, even though he’s got no idea what Harry was about to say. “It doesn’t - I had to rework my design. Figure out how I could create something that I cared about but that wouldn’t make me feel empty, something that I could love in a different way. In a safer way.” He gestures towards the sculpture. “Look again. See if you recognize anything.”</p>
<p>Harry begrudgingly turns back to the sculpture, and Louis watches him, watches the way his eyes narrow, scanning every line, every feature. His eyes widen then, and Louis smiles. “Oh.” Harry whispers. His eyes narrow again, like he’s double checking to confirm, and he checks with Louis then too, meeting his eyes. “That’s, is it, it sort of looks like Zayn a bit?” He sounds hesitant, and Louis is quick to nod. </p>
<p>“I figured, who would I be safer with than my best friends?” It feels silly, explaining it, but he thinks Harry might get it if the soft expression on his face is any indication. “It’s Zayn’s jawline and his eyes. It’ll be Liam’s hair.” He gives him a small grin. “Which, for one, is going to be a <em>lot</em> easier to sculpt than your messy curls.” </p>
<p>Harry makes a face at him. “I like my curls.”</p>
<p>Louis smiles. “Me too,” he says softly. “Perfection can be a lot of things, Harry. My perfect man - it was easier once I stopped focusing on what I wanted and started thinking of what I needed in my life. What I need isn’t romance, necessarily. It’s understanding, acceptance. Safety. And I’m not saying I don’t want all of that in a romantic sense too, but, at the end of the day, what matters most is that you find that in your friends. I figured, I’m so lucky to have them. They’re all I could ask for. So to me, they’re perfect.” They weren’t without flaws, but they didn’t need to be. Louis knew that for all that Zayn was a perpetual planner and for all that Liam could be a bit uptight at times, they’d always be there for him when he needed them. There’d be no judgment, only acceptance and the promise to help him get through it together. “Once I figured that out, it was a little easier to sculpt. Once I stopped trying to make you, I was actually able to work.”</p>
<p>Harry hums, looking at the sculpture again. “I was so jealous,” he confesses, shifting to wander around the room, as though he’s only okay talking about this when he isn’t right near Louis, when he isn’t being looked at. “When I went with Liam and Zayn, all I could think about was that you were going to replace me. You were going to make a new sculpture and he’d be perfect and he wouldn’t mess up and he wouldn’t hurt you and I just - it hurt so much that for a while I thought I wouldn’t be able to stand it. I thought, if I just turn back to stone, I wouldn’t have to feel all this pain. I didn’t know humans felt so much pain, Louis.” </p>
<p>Louis wants to look at him, but Harry doesn’t turn around, avoids his gaze until he moves to stand next to him again, close enough that their shoulders almost press together. “I’m scared.” Harry says quietly. “I’m so scared that I won’t be able to cope. That I don’t know what’s going to happen. That I’m just going to have to go to sleep every night, not knowing if I’ll wake up. And that even if I do wake up, there’s no guarantee I’ll make it through the day. I feel so <em>fragile</em>.”</p>
<p>Louis blindly reaches for his hand, gives it a little squeeze. “Humans <em>are</em> fragile,” he agrees quietly. “And you - I don’t think there’s any precedent for this. I can’t imagine how scary it must be, how terrified you must’ve been when you realized you were turning back into stone. You’re so brave, Harry.” He looks at him, catches his unsure expression before he glances away. “You <em>are</em>. Choosing to live when everything’s so uncertain, that’s one of the most human things you can do. Putting your trust, your life, into someone else’s hands - it’s terrifying. I can’t promise you that it’ll get easier, or that we’ll find out where to go from here. But I can promise you that I’ll do whatever it takes to find out.” He bumps their shoulders together, pleased when Harry sways with it like he already expected it. “You and me. We’re a team now, Harry.”</p>
<p>Harry smiles, bumping him back. Louis has to lock his knees to keep from falling over, but it makes him smile, the fact that Harry’s not so conscious of how his strength has been returning. The fact that he’s here, moving around, looking healthy and human and not at all as fragile as he says he’s feeling. “Like in Titanic,” Harry voices softly. “If you jump, I jump.”</p>
<p>Louis snorts. <em>Of course </em>Zayn had made him watch Titanic. But he smiles, gives Harry’s hand another squeeze. “Exactly.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>It’s been an emotional rollercoaster kind of a day, so Louis is almost relieved when it’s time to head to bed. He’d made a quick dinner that Harry had watched him eat, and after watching some nature television while Louis enjoyed a cup of tea and Harry enjoyed holding a mug of his own, they brush their teeth in the bathroom. Louis isn’t sure Harry even needs to brush his teeth, since he neither eats nor actually has teeth that decay, but there’s something sweet and comfortable in standing shoulder to shoulder, brushing their teeth and sneaking glances at each other in the mirror. </p>
<p>He’s almost sorry to say goodnight to Harry then, wishes that he’d come with him, not because he thought it was a good idea, but because it had been so nice to have someone in the same room as him, someone that he could match his breathing to, that would make him feel like everything would turn out alright. </p>
<p>Not that he’s not hopeful. He’s more hopeful than he’s been in a while, but he’s also careful. Aware that he can slip back into old habits a little too easily. </p>
<p>So it’s for the best, but Louis still wants to hug Harry before he lets him go into the studio, if only because he looks fragile. He doesn’t, but he does rest a hand on his shoulder, resisting the urge to tuck a wayward curl into place. “You’ll let me know if you need more blankets, yeah?” He says, even though he knows there are at least three blankets in place and oh yeah, Harry doesn’t feel the cold. But he feels <em>comfort</em>, and Louis wants him to be comfortable. “Or, anything else. You can always come and wake me up if you need me, okay?” It’s not that he thinks Harry will revert to being a statue if he’s less than four feet away from him, but- </p>
<p>He just doesn’t want to take the risk, is all. </p>
<p>Harry just smiles and nods and looks for a moment as though he wants to lean in and press a kiss to Louis’ cheek. But in the end, he just steps back, smiles again and whispers a soft <em>good night Lou</em>.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>When Louis wakes up the next morning, it isn’t to the smell of bacon and eggs. But it is to a soft sort of contentment in his chest, a hope that spreads its wings and makes him feel like maybe they’ll figure it out this time. He’s got no idea where to start, but at least for once they’re on the same page. </p>
<p>He also wakes up inspired, eager to finish his sculpture and not just because it’ll give him more time to focus on Harry and how he is going to turn him from a walking sculpture into something more human, if that is even possible.</p>
<p>By the time he’s made himself breakfast - wondering briefly if he should wait for Harry before realizing that there was little point besides politeness, since Harry would only sit there and watch him - Harry’s yet to emerge from the studio, and Louis wonders if he should let him sleep in, or if it’d be okay if he came in and got to work.</p>
<p>He ends up knocking, once he’s cleaned away breakfast and has changed into some old, worn grey sweater and some sweatpants, one of his favorite outfits to work in because it allows him to move his body freely, to not be hindered by restrictive materials as he sculpts. He’s got his hair slicked back, looking forward to the time where it’ll be long enough to tie the top in a little pony tail, so his hair doesn’t fall into his eyes when the gel inevitably relinquishes its hold on his hair. It’s not something he’d ever let anyone see, the way he’s dressed when he works, he likes to make an effort when he’s in public, but when it’s just him (or in this case, just him and Harry, who had seen him many a time dressed just like this, though mostly before he’d come to life) he prefers comfort over style any day of the week. </p>
<p>Harry, when he opens the door, does so wrapped in his favorite blanket, looking sleepy and adorably ruffled, his hair similar to a bird nest on top of his head. He gives Louis a sleepy looking smile, and part of Louis is acutely aware of how nice it’d be to rest his head against Harry’s shoulder, curl into the blanket with him and be enveloped in its warmth. </p>
<p>“Hi Haz,” he says instead, his voice soft. “Good to see you.” It is. It’s amazing, to see him up and awake, moving around like nothing had ever happened. Louis hadn’t been worried, or so he keeps telling himself, but he can’t ignore the way that the pressure in his chest dissipates at seeing him look so distinctly normal. He doesn’t ever want to see him like he’d done yesterday, even if he’s acutely aware that they’ve got to find a better way, a way where Harry isn’t dependent on his proximity to stay alive. </p>
<p>Harry yawns, rubs at his eyes with his hand, holding the blanket together with his other hand, and there’s something sweet in that. In how he covers himself up, despite the fact that Louis has seen it all. He hardly seems aware of it too, which makes it even better, because it seems he’s doing it for himself, not for Louis this time. “Morning Lou,” his voice sounds deep, rough, and Louis is again overcome by the urge to cuddle into him. “Time’s it?”</p>
<p>Louis gives him a sheepish grin. “Six thirty.” He hadn’t realized just how early he’d woken up, but by the time he’d come into the kitchen only to find it was not even six o’clock he’d been too awake to contemplate going back to bed. “You can get a few more hours of sleep, if you’d like. I just - I woke up and I felt this desire to go to work.” He smiles at him, gestures towards the unfinished sculpture. “The entire week it’s been so difficult, but now that you’re here, it’s like I woke up again. It’s like I don’t have to think about where I’ll place my chisel, my body just knows.”</p>
<p>“Divine inspiration,” Harry murmurs, and Louis contemplates that for a moment. It’s a throwaway comment, Harry still half asleep and hardly aware of what he’s saying if the way his eyes are half lidded is any indication, but it brings his thoughts back to the starting point of this whole journey, to the concept that he’d tried to create. The Pygmalion Myth. </p>
<p>It brings his thoughts to Aphrodite, who had heard Pygmalion’s plea and had granted his wish, bringing Galatea to life the moment he had kissed her sculpture. </p>
<p>“Maybe,” he says absently, trying to hold onto a thought that feels too fleeting, just beyond his grasp. He frowns. “Maybe there’s some truth to it.” He glances up at Harry, lovely and confused, and shakes his head. “Just a thought. Maybe, remind me to look it up later?”</p>
<p>Harry gives him a bemused smile. “I would if I had any idea what you were talking about,” he tells him, and Louis can’t help but give him a sheepish smile. </p>
<p>“Mythology.” He says, finally giving into the urge to brush his fingertips over Harry’s skin, even if it’s just a small brush over his knuckles. “An answer, maybe.” He looks up at him, smiles when it’s clear that his words aren’t really getting through to Harry. “Get some more sleep, alright? You can take my bed, that way I won’t keep you awake while I work.”</p>
<p>Harry smiles, nods at first but then shakes his head, stepping back into the studio and curling up onto his mattress like a content little house cat. “I like watching you work.” is all he says, and Louis spends the next hour or two working with a smile on his face.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>This time, instead of an alarm, Harry alerts him to his aching back by resting a hand on it, by gently rubbing the tension from him until Louis lets out a soft sigh. “It’s ten,” Harry says quietly, his voice no longer sleepy but still so deep, so warm that Louis wants to <em>bathe</em> in it. “You should take a break. I’ll make you coffee, okay?”</p>
<p>Louis puts down his chisel, flexing his cramped fingers. He’s made quite a bit of progress, in the past few hours, but now that he’s stopped, now that he’s brought out of his work trance, he can feel the tension he’s been holding in his body, can feel the fatigue that he hadn’t felt upon waking up. “You don’t have to do that,” he says automatically, and Harry’s hand on his back stills for a moment.</p>
<p>“I want to.” He says, and Louis hesitates for a moment, before deciding to take him at his word.</p>
<p>They head into the kitchen, where Louis watches Harry make coffee, watches him measure out the amount of spoonfuls of coffee powder to put into the fancy French press machine that Zayn had bought and never bothered to take with him when he left. “I could probably do with one more,” he admits, when Harry puts the spoon away, and Harry just gives him a look.</p>
<p>“I’m going to have to deal with you hyped on coffee for the rest of the day,” he laments, but there’s a smile on his face and he puts another spoonful of coffee powder into the french press, before adding the hot water and turning it on. “Don’t come complaining to me when your hands are too shaky to hold the chisel.”</p>
<p>Louis smiles. “Actually, I was thinking we should spend the afternoon doing something else. Something for you.”</p>
<p>Harry hums, leaning against the counter, dressed now, in some sweatpants that Louis thinks Liam might have given him. “I don’t know what I want to do,” he says, a small frown on his face though he doesn’t necessarily look unhappy, just thoughtful. “I kind of like just sitting there, watching you work.” He ducks his head down. “I also sort of like the idea of getting rid of the sculpture as soon as possible, so there’s that.” He admits, and Louis doesn’t even need to look at him to know that he’s blushing. </p>
<p>“If that’s what you want, then we can do that,” he tells him softly. “Hey. Do you know the story of Pygmalion?” At Harry’s blank stare, he chuckles. “Sorry, my brain just - this morning, remember, you said something about divine inspiration, and it got me thinking. And your comment just now, about watching me work, sometimes my mind makes these weird connections. Anyway. Do you?”</p>
<p>Harry shakes his head, and Louis nods, already pulling up his phone to tap at some of the buttons on his screen. “It’s kind of the start of all this.” He says softly, face brightening when he finds something that’s close enough to what he’s looking for. He shows the page to Harry. “Maybe while I work, you could read it to me, and we can start to figure out where to go from here?”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>The coffee hasn’t made his hands jittery, though it has caused a soft buzzing in his brain, one that makes him eager to get to work, that makes him feel like he can take on anything, he can be the superhero that Harry needs.</p>
<p>Though Harry right now doesn’t seem to need much. He’s sat on his mattress again, legs curled up under him, Louis’ phone in hand because Louis owns quite a few books but none on this specific myth. Harry doesn’t seem to mind though, just reads the myth in a soft, melodious voice.</p>
<p><em>“The best art, they say, is that which conceals art,” </em>he reads, and Louis listens as he starts sculpting Liam’s hair, starts bringing tendrils not just to the forefront of his mind but to the marble underneath his fingers. <em>“And so Pygmalion marvels, and loves the body he has fashioned. He would often move his hands to test and touch it, could this be flesh, or was it ivory only? No, it could not be ivory. His kisses, he fancies, she returns; he speaks to her, holds her, believes his fingers almost leave an imprint on her limbs, and fears to bruise her.”</em></p>
<p>Harry continues reading, about how Pygmalion had loved Galatea beyond anyone else, had thought her perfect - virginal, which makes Louis cringe - and would bring her gifts, would take her to bed and lay with her, would call her darling and wish for her to be real.</p>
<p>Louis hadn’t quite gotten that bad, but he knows that he’d been lost, just like Pygmalion had been, had been wanting his perfect man to be real; even if he hadn’t felt, like Pygmalion did, that no real man could ever be as good as his sculpture. He hadn’t cared for someone virginal and chaste, he hadn’t condemned all the men in the world and thought them worthless, like Pygmalion had, but his obsession with his sculpture, he had understood that.</p>
<p>He listens, as Harry tells him how Venus - it’s a Roman version of the Myth, rather than the original Greek, but it’d been the first Louis had found - had listened to Pygmalion’s wish, had granted it, and upon his return home, upon the first kiss he’d given her, she’d turned to life. </p>
<p>The story ends wonderfully, albeit far from realistic. Rather than freaking out about the moral implications of his actions, Pygmalion had been ecstatic, and he’d married Galatea, who had loved him in return. Whether or not she’d had a choice or ever regretted the marriage was left unsaid, only that they’d been blessed with a daughter, making it clear that Galatea hadn’t just come to life like Harry had done, she’d actually been made human.</p>
<p>It’s quiet, when Harry stops reading, and Louis can practically feel it, as though the silence is as thick as freshly fallen snow. He turns towards him, to find Harry still staring at the phone, even if the screen has already turned off. He looks young, and a little lost, and Louis would give anything to know what’s on his mind right now.</p>
<p>“Harry?” He asks, but Harry barely glances up, so Louis approaches him carefully, settles down onto the mattress next to him. “Are you okay? Is there anything you need right now?” </p>
<p>Harry lets out a deep, shivery breath, putting the phone down carefully. “If this is the only way,” he says thickly, “if asking a Goddess to bring me to life is the only way -- how are we ever going to make that happen, Louis? Do Gods even exist?”</p>
<p>It’s a complicated, heavy question, and Louis doesn’t quite know the answer. “Before any of this happened, I would’ve said no. But, you’re here.” He reaches for him, gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze. The moment he touches him, Harry falls forward, sinks into his arms, and all Louis can do is wrap him up in the biggest hug he can give him right now. “Stranger things have happened, Harry. You’re here for a reason. And if I have to travel to Greece and find some old temple and pray to Aphrodite, then I will. And if that doesn’t work, then we will find some other way. Goddess or not, this happened for a reason, and I refuse to believe that there’s not more to it than this. There’s gotta be. Even if Aphrodite is not real, even if no God is real, it doesn’t - <em>magic</em> is real. Because you’re <em>here</em>. And I don’t know if it’s some kind of magic that’s inside of you, or if it’s out there, all over the world, but I will find out. <em>We</em> will find out. I won’t give up until I do, okay?”</p>
<p>Harry nods, but doesn’t say anything, so for the longest time Louis just holds him.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>Louis isn’t exactly in the mood to continue after that, not when Harry looks so vulnerable, so rather than getting back to his work he figures it won’t do any harm to abandon it for the day. Yes, his muse is there, running rampant in his brain, making him see the exact movements that he’ll need to do to bring the sculpture to life (though preferably only metaphorically in this case), but Harry matters more right now, and it’s not because Louis has some lingering feelings for him. </p>
<p>He just wants him to be happy. Wants to make him happy, and even though he knows it’s a risk, a thought takes root in his brain, makes him think about the many ways in which he could bring some light and colour into Harry’s life.</p>
<p>It’s the lack of natural life and colour on his face that’ll pose a problem, however, so for now, he doesn’t tell Harry his plan, just takes him into the living room, where Harry holds and sniffs a cup of tea until it’s gone cold. He looks cozy, wrapped in his blanket, and with some soft music on, Louis could almost believe that it’s enough, if it weren’t for the somewhat saddened expression on Harry’s face. He seems lost in thought more than anything, and Louis wishes they’d have found better answers online. Wishes they had some sort of starting point, at the very least. </p>
<p>They sit in companionable silence for a while, while Louis drinks his tea and Harry smells his own, but after a while the ticking of the clock seems to become unbearable, seems to only serve to remind him of how he still doesn’t know anything and never might. </p>
<p>“Harry.” It’s soft, yet Harry still flinches a little bit, green eyes a bit unfocused when they meet his, though he manages a smile. Louis isn’t sure if it’s a subconscious thing or if he’s only doing it to make Louis feel better, but it’s nice to see him smile nonetheless. “What were you thinking about?” He asks, pushing the question he’d meant to ask to the back of his mind. </p>
<p>Harry shrugs a shoulder, putting down the mug of cold tea. “Just-” he pauses, sighs. “I didn’t think I’d feel this hopeless. Because compared to yesterday, so many things have changed. But I still feel stuck, somehow? Yeah, I’m alive, but am I, really? I’m not human. I can’t go out and do whatever I want, because people would notice and I - I don’t even know what would happen but I doubt it’d be good.” He frowns delicately. “I thought - I don’t know why I expected you to have the answers. But I guess a part of me still thought that since you knew how you’d brought me to life, you’d know how to make me human.”</p>
<p>Louis bites on his lip. “Don’t you think I would’ve done it by now, if I’d known?” He says just as quietly, making sure that his voice doesn’t sound accusing, even when part of him wonders what reason Harry would have thought he’d have for keeping him from becoming human. </p>
<p>“I think it was hope, more than anything,” Harry answers. “I didn’t actually think - I know you’re a good man, Louis.” He sounds almost desperate, as though Louis won’t believe him, and Louis finds himself shifting to sit next to him on the couch, a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “There’s not much I know that I’ve figured out for myself, but I do know that.” Harry swallows, and Louis brushes his thumb over the shirt that’s stretched over his shoulders. “But I hoped - I know I said that I just wanted to be alive, if I couldn’t be human, and don’t get me wrong, it’s still better than the alternative, I’m not going to change my mind, but, what will happen to me?”</p>
<p>Louis frowns a bit. “What do you mean love?”</p>
<p>Harry gestures towards nothing in particular. “I mean, when you go outside, I have to stay here. I can’t go anywhere unless you’re with me. But more than that, what happens in the long run? When you fall in love? Have a family? Am I just going to be there, on the sidelines of your life, infringing on it? I don’t want that. I want - I want something that’s <em>mine</em>, Louis. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy, but, I want to be able to live the life <em>I</em> want, not the one that I’m stuck with, and I know I should be grateful that I get a chance to live at all, but-”</p>
<p>“You don’t owe anyone gratitude, Haz,” Louis interrupts him gently. “Least of all me. I wish I had the answers for you. Like I said before, I will do whatever I can to figure it out for you. I need to believe that things will get better, that you’ll get to live the life you want.” Needed to, because the alternative was unbearable to think about. To think that he’d condemned Harry to life a half life. “But if we can’t-” as much as he doesn’t want to even think about the possibility, pretending that it doesn’t exist isn’t going to do either of them any good. It won’t make them any more prepared for the future. “Then we’ll find a marvelous make-up artist, who can teach you how to apply make-up so you’ll look just like anyone else,” it’s not a solution but it’d at least give Harry some more freedom, even if Louis’ stomach twists at the thought of letting him go anywhere when he wasn’t around to protect him. “As for love - it works in strange ways. I wouldn’t give up hope just yet, alright?”</p>
<p>Harry shifts, resting his head on Louis’ shoulder. “Zayn said that too. I told him, I don’t remember when, because the days all kind of blurred together at some point, but I told him that I liked seeing him and Liam. What they have - it’s wonderful, isn’t it? It’s what you told me love could be. I can see it when they look at each other, that they both feel safe, and like they belong. Zayn told me that love has so many forms and that even if my life might not turn out the way I’d expected or wanted to at the start, that it didn’t mean that it wouldn’t be so worth it.” </p>
<p>Louis smiles a little bit, pressing an almost absent kiss to Harry’s curls. “Well, you should always listen to Zayn. He’s the smart one.”</p>
<p>Harry hums, and to his relief, Louis can hear a smile in it. He basks in that for a moment, then gently squeezes his knee. “Hey.” He says softly. “when I asked what you were thinking about, that wasn’t actually what I was going to ask. Not that I’m - I’m glad you told me. But like. I was thinking, is there something you’d like to do? Something that I could do that’d make you happy?”</p>
<p>It’s still a loaded question, but at least this time Harry doesn’t immediately answer, doesn’t give him the answer that he thinks Louis might want. Instead he frowns, shifts to sit up so he can actually look at Louis. “I don’t even know where to start,” he taps his fingers against his lips, shifts again, curling his legs underneath himself. “There’s so many things - what is your favorite thing to do?”</p>
<p>Louis frowns. “Oof, honestly, a lot of things. In general though, I’m often quite happy to just be at home with a cup of tea and the telly.” He smiles at Harry. “But that’s something that you’ve done plenty of.”</p>
<p>Harry lets out a soft chuckle. “Yeaaaa,” he says, still pinning Louis down with the gentlest, curious gaze. “What do you do when you really need to relax?”</p>
<p>Louis can feel the start of a blush appearing on his face, even when he knows he’s got no reason to be ashamed of what he’s about to confess. Still, there’s a part of him that can’t help feeling defensive, that has him looking down at his legs and fidgeting with his hands. “Sometimes, when I feel really stressed, I take a bath, do a nice facial mask. Get a manicure, a hair treatment. Glass of wine with it, some good music, ‘s honestly the best way to unwind.” </p>
<p>For a moment, Harry stays quiet, and Louis isn’t sure if he’d spoken too softly to be heard, or if Harry is just thinking about it, or, something he doesn’t quite want to consider, he’s a bit put off by his answer. He glances up through his eyelashes, but there’s nothing negative in Harry’s expression. Rather, he looks delighted. </p>
<p>“I love that.” He whispers, giving Louis the brightest smile he might’ve ever seen on his face. “Can we do that?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Louis finds, to his dismay, that he’s run low on his usual supplies, so after a lunch that consists of a cheese toastie and some watermelon that is on its way to overripe, he goes for a quick run to the corner store, picking up some things for his and Harry’s spa day.</p>
<p>He can’t help but feel a little bit giddy at the prospect when he walks through the aisles, looking at all the products, wondering which mask Harry would like and if he should splurge for the hair treatment for curly hair. He tries not to ask himself what he’s doing, if any of the products would even have an effect when Harry’s skin isn’t actual skin. Instead he focuses on picking out several colours of nail polish that he’d never wear in a million years but that he can’t help but think would look amazing on Harry. </p>
<p>They haven’t exactly discussed nail polish, but Louis figures there’s no harm in buying a couple, not when he’s got plenty of sisters that will be happy to take the bottles off his hands if they don’t end up using them. And there are so many pretty shades. There’s a gorgeous royal purple, a colour called ‘Freudian Slip’ that briefly makes Louis wonder what possesses people to name colours a certain way, and an absolutely stunning metallic red colour that Louis sort of wants to put on his toenails even if he’s never been a nail polish person. </p>
<p>He picks up at least a dozen different masks, both peel off and wash off, opts for a new moisturizer that’s on sale, and ends up buying not one but two different hair masks for curly hair, because even if it’s not going to have any effect on Harry, Louis still wants him to enjoy this afternoon.</p>
<p>Making his way home with his purchases, he finds that he doesn’t even mind the rain that’s steadily falling down, seeping all the way down to his t-shirt. </p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>Harry looks like he’s absolutely buzzing when he returns, all but ripping the bag from Louis’ hands to sift through its contents before Louis has even managed to kick off his shoes. Louis can’t help but laugh, peeling off his wet coat and heading straight for the bathroom to grab a towel to dry his hair. “You look excited,” he observes, when he returns, the towel still in hand because it’s just about dry enough to still be usable later on. “What do you want to start with, love?”</p>
<p>He’s excited too, he has to admit. It’s been a while since he’s proper treated himself, and with the recent stress he’s looking forward to an afternoon of pampering, even if he has to pamper himself. He’s normally got his routine down, but he doesn’t think a bath is going to be too good for Harry, even though marble doesn’t usually absorb too much water. Plus, the bath is too small to share - not that that would be a great idea in the first place - and he doesn’t want to make Harry wait, so he just dries himself off and changes into some joggers and an oversized sweater, feeling warm and cozy and happy.</p>
<p>Harry’s struggling to make a choice, just laying out all the items on the coffee table, staring at them, picking one up only to change his mind and reach for another. Louis smiles, focuses on putting on some music and lighting some incense, closing the curtains and opting for a few candles to really give off that spa vibe. “Y’alright there, Haz?” he teases lightly, and when Harry looks up at him he’s surprised to see him blushing.</p>
<p>“I didn’t think this was something boys did,” he says softly, and Louis frowns before making an effort to relax his face, knowing that Harry - of all people - wouldn’t mean that in a bad way. “Just - from what I learned, boys are supposed to be tough, and not cry, and not wear sparkly nail polish.”</p>
<p>Louis sits down next to him on the floor, reaching out to tuck an errant curl behind Harry’s ear. “There’s a lot of supposed rules about what it means to be a boy or a girl. A lot of stereotypes.” He agrees gently. “But what makes you a boy isn’t how you look, or what you wear, or even what’s between your legs.” He wonders if Harry will understand, or if a conversation about inclusivity is going to be too hard to comprehend when he’s barely used to life. “It’s how you feel on the inside. If you feel like a boy, then you’re a boy. And if you feel like a boy who wants to wear make-up and do facial masks and put on nail polish, then you’re still a boy.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Besides, it’s nice. I’ve never tried the nail polish, but the other stuff? It’s dead nice, to relax, and to reject those things because they’re supposedly girly, well that’s a bit daft, isn’t it? Sure, you might need to buy some different supplies, because boys’ skin isn’t exactly the same as girls’ skin, but that should be the only difference. Life is - it’s complicated enough, without trying to be what everyone else thinks you should be.” He leans forward, taps the space over Harry’s heart. “What’s in here. That’s all that should matter. And anyone who thinks differently, they’re usually not worth your time.”</p>
<p>Harry stays quiet for a moment, then hums. “Do you think I’ll learn?” He asks softly. “What’s in there? If who I want to be is truly who <em>I</em> want to be?” </p>
<p>Louis gives him a gentle smile. “It’s hard.” He acknowledges. “It’s hard for anyone to tune out the world and listen to what you truly want. But you’re on your way, Haz. The fact that you’re asking these questions, that you’re taking the time to figure out where you’d like to start, even if it’s something as small as this, that’s all good signs. You have to remember, I’ve got years on you. And I’m still figuring things out. I’m still not the type to shout it from the rooftops, that I enjoy this kind of thing. Because some people would make fun of me, and it’s not that I’m ashamed or that I would feel less of a man if people knew, but, this is for <em>me</em>. This is something I do when I need to relax, and the whole outside world can fuck off and stay there. The moment I start worrying about what I do when I’m here is the moment it’s going to stop working, and I’m not letting them have that power. Not here. Not in my space.” He smiles. “This is always going to be a safe place. And you’re always going to be able to figure out who you are, here. And if you find out you like wearing nail polish, then I’ll buy you all the pretty colours you want, because if that’s who you are then that’s who I’ll-” he stops himself just before he can say the word <em>love</em>, even though it’s true, even though he doesn’t necessarily even mean it in a romantic way. It’s a conversation he’s not exactly ready to have, about the different kinds of ways in which he loves Harry, not when they’re still on shaky ground. He swallows. “I’ll always accept you. No matter what.”</p>
<p>Harry gives him a soft smile back, one that looks so tender that for a moment Louis finds it difficult to breathe. “Okay.” He whispers, as though anything louder would break this fragile fondness between them. Louis watches as his eyes go back to the supplies on the table. “Will you paint my nails for me?”</p>
<p>Louis’ heart aches, but in the best kind of way. “Of course.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>Harry can’t stop wiggling his toes. They’re half an hour into their impromptu spa day, and his toenails are painted in that gorgeous blue colour with the terrible name, and whenever he wiggles his toes the light from the candles catches the sparkle in a different way. It’s sort of mesmerizing, and sort of soothing, and Louis loves how much Harry loves this. </p>
<p>He’s not really done much for himself thus far, but that’s alright. He’s given Harry a manicure, and the closeness could’ve felt wrong or too much, but it hadn’t, it’d just felt nice instead. Having Harry’s hands in his, having him surrender to him, it’d felt good. And now Harry’s nails look lovely and human, and Louis sometimes has to consciously remind himself of the fact that even though Harry’s skin feels soft and looks perfectly ordinary in the soft candlelight, in reality it’s anything but. If he holds onto his hand tight enough he can still tell, he can feel that the warmth is only skin deep and that underneath soft skin there is a solid mass, something more than muscle and bone. But on the surface, at least in this light, Harry looks and feels like any other boy, a very lovely boy who wants to look pretty, as though he’s not enough of a menace in the way he looks right now.</p>
<p>“Do you want me to do your nails?” Harry whispers, and Louis looks up at him, smiles.</p>
<p>“Yeah, if you want to.”</p>
<p>Harry nods, then pauses. “Is that okay? That I still want to do things for you? It’s not - I don’t think I’m doing them because I think it’ll make you happy. But, I think it might make me happy? Is it, is that okay?”</p>
<p>Louis can feel the smile on his face growing softer as he squeezes Harry’s hand. “Yeah love,” he whispers, “that’s okay.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>By the time their afternoon has turned into evening, the light of the candles no longer enough to combat the darkness, they’re both pampered and relaxed and happy. Harry had painted Louis’ nails, and even when his hand eye coordination had left something to be desired, it had actually turned out really pretty, even though Louis still needs a moment to recognize his own hand whenever he sees it from the corner of his eye. They’d done masks and moisturizers, and despite the fact that the moisturizer hadn’t really done much for Harry’s skin - not absorbing as much as it would on Louis’ face - he still looks and smells pretty amazing. </p>
<p>Neither of them are in a mood to cook, so instead they order in, and they spend the rest of the night on the couch, watching some of Louis’ favorite movies. Louis isn’t sure, but he thinks he might be happy. And from the look on Harry’s face, he thinks Harry might be too.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>The next morning Louis is in his studio by eight. Harry hasn’t bothered to get up, but rather than taking his blankets to Louis’ room to sleep some more he’s on his mattress, head propped up on his hands, watching Louis sculpt. They don’t talk, but Louis still feels his eyes on him, feels the inspiration to continue, even if it’s prompted by Harry’s jealousy. </p>
<p>He works for a few hours, comforted by the sounds that indicate that someone else is here, the soft shuffling of blankets, gentle exhales and slow inhales wrapping themselves around him like a hug. It helps him make progress, features coming along faster than he’s expected them to. </p>
<p>It makes it both easy and hard to stop. Hard because he wants to continue now that he’s inspired, can see so easily what he’d be able to do with another half hour, another hour. Easy because he’s gotten further ahead than he expected and it makes him feel alright with taking some time off. </p>
<p>Afternoons will be for Harry, he decides. He can’t expect him to put his life on hold while Louis works, he owes him the chance to figure things out, and he wants to do it together, if only to be there for Harry whenever he has questions or starts to feel hopeless. </p>
<p>So once he stops working, once he’s taken a shower and fixed himself some lunch, he gently proposes the idea to Harry:</p>
<p>“I was thinking we could go to the library.”</p>
<p>Harry’s face is blank for a moment, before he glances up at Louis. “You mean, <em>you</em> could go to the library.”</p>
<p>Louis smiles. “Actually, I didn’t.”</p>
<p>A frown slowly slides onto Harry’s face, and Louis bites back a smile. “Louis.” He sounds wary, but not scared, and Louis figures that’s about as good a response as he could’ve expected. 
</p>
<p>“No one really goes to the library these days,” he tells him softly. “And when they do, they’re not really paying attention to who else is there.” They might give Harry no more than a cursory glance. “It’s getting harder to tell. I mean, <em>I</em> can tell, because I’m around you all the time, and I’m really looking at you, but not many people will, love. They won’t see that the colour on your cheeks isn’t quite natural.” He pauses for a moment. “But we don’t have to. If you don’t feel comfortable - we could start with something else. Maybe a walk at night, when no one’s going to be around. I just - I want you to be able to experience more than just my flat. And I figured, since we’re trying to figure out what happened and what we can expect, that you’d like to be there. It’s not just - you’re meant to be the one in control. The thought of me going to the library alone, coming home and just telling you about something that you’re actually <em>living </em>- I don’t know. It feels wrong.”</p>
<p>He looks up at Harry, finds him looking pensive. A little apprehensive too, but underneath that, Louis is pretty sure he can see a certain excitement. “Okay.” Harry breathes it out quietly, fingers twitching a bit on the table, but he nods and steels himself. “Okay. Yeah. I like that. We’ll go to the library. You and me.” His face morphs into a grin. “I get to go to the library.”</p>
<p>Louis grins back at him, so fond of his endearing excitement. “Nerd.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>As excited as Louis is to take him outside, he has to admit that he’s also wary and nervous, though he’s careful not to let it show. The last thing he wants is for Harry to second guess himself, to worry so much that he’s going to draw more attention to himself than absolutely necessary. </p>
<p>But thankfully they live in a big city, and when the weather’s shit like it’s been for the past few days, no one pays attention, except to make sure they don’t bump into someone - and sometimes barely that. Most people are curled into themselves, heads bent down to avoid the rain, hurrying towards their next destination. Harry, Louis can tell, enjoys the thought of rain on his face, but Louis knows what happens to marble if the rain’s too acidic, so he’s careful to cover him up, holds his hand as he tugs him towards the library. Next time, he promises himself. Next time the weather’s nice he’ll take Harry outside to actually enjoy their surroundings. But not today, not when rain could harm him and they’ve got someplace to be.</p>
<p>The library is cool and quiet, and no one bats an eyelash when they walk in, just like Louis had hoped. He still doesn’t waste time, steers Harry right into the Mythology section, almost embarrassed when just being there gives him such a huge sense of relief that he lets out a sigh loud enough for Harry to quirk his eyebrow at him. </p>
<p>“Nervous?” He asks softly, and Louis finds his cheeks flushing a little.</p>
<p>“A bit.” He says tentatively. “I mean, I knew it’d be okay, but I didn’t <em>know</em>.” There is only so much he can plan, only so much he can prepare himself for. “I’m never gonna be okay with risking you, but, I don’t want to lock you up forever either. I figured, the longer I wait, the more reasons I’m going to be able to come up with to keep you safe in my flat. So I didn’t want to wait.”</p>
<p>Harry hums. “You’re an odd man.” He says, and Louis can’t help but snort.</p>
<p>“Rude.”</p>
<p>“I meant it as a compliment.” Harry says, and Louis looks at him, narrows his eyes but there’s nothing on Harry’s face that tells him that he’s kidding, or messing with him. He huffs out another laugh, nudges Harry’s side. </p>
<p>“Well in that case, thank you.” He pauses. “And you’re one to talk.”</p>
<p>Harry simply smiles, turns to the rows of books, running his fingers over some of the spines, though he doesn’t seem drawn to anything in particular. Louis is drawn to him though, and for a moment he just watches him, lets Harry have this moment, the realization that he’s here, that there is an entire world out there that doesn't consist of Louis’ or Zayn and Liam’s flat. He can see it in the way his fingers still and his eyes grow a little bit larger, in the tension that fades from his forehead and the soft smile that curls around his lips. Louis wants to reach out and rest a hand on his back, wants to tell him he’s there, but he can’t make himself move, can only look and watch the wonder on Harry’s face.</p>
<p>It’s bittersweet, because it’s a library, and there are so many things that are more deserving of that look on Harry’s face, but it’s a start. And right now, with the amount of things that they still need to figure out, it’s the perfect start.</p>
<p>They spend most of the afternoon in the Mythology aisle, undisturbed except for one young girl that comes wandering in about an hour into their research. There’s books all over the floor and she only takes one look at them before choosing to dart back out of the aisle and into the next one, but Louis still finds the moment just a tad too scary for comfort. It takes him a moment to relax again, but they don’t see anyone else all afternoon, though sadly, the solitude turns out to be the best part of the entire trip.</p>
<p>Not that it’s not nice. It’s very nice, to be someplace other than his flat. Harry loves the library, looks right at home, surrounded by books. But in terms of actual research, of actual <em>answers</em>, they don’t really get that far.</p>
<p>Mythology is a broad subject, and even when they narrow it down to metamorphoses, transformations and transfigurations, there’s still plenty of stories that deal with just that. Sometimes people get turned into animals, like roosters or dogs, and sometimes objects get turned into people - most notably, rocks into warriors, and Louis makes sure to put the books with those stories on a different pile so that they can take them home even when he doubts they’ll give too much to go on - and then there’s so many different cultures, all with their own Myths. It’s an overflow of information but Louis can’t help but feel that it still isn’t <em>enough</em>. That no matter how much he wants it, the solution won’t be in these books. </p>
<p>Because these are <em>stories</em>. Legends, myths, whatever you want to call them. They’re not real, and they’re not recent. If something hasn’t happened in the past 2000+ years, he doubts it’s going to be useful. </p>
<p>Still. They plan to take the books home. Books on Pandora, who was molded from clay - and who was also evil and whose descendants would torment the human race, so Louis isn’t sure he wants Harry to read that particular story - and on Talos, the man made of bronze. Books on Pygmalion, though Louis has a feeling they’ll all say much the same thing. Pygmalion had begged Aphrodite and that was enough. If more is written, he has no doubt it’s all analogies and explanations, of how these metamorphoses weren’t real and more symbolic of the way life and thought was back then. Interesting, absolutely, and Louis would happily immerse himself in the topic - because it’s been a few years since he studied Mythology in Art in college and he could do with a refresher on some topics, and it’s always inspired him to work - but right now that’s not the goal. </p>
<p>The goal is Harry, who looks timid, as though he’s not sure if he should be excited or disappointed. Louis thinks it might be a bit of both, and he can’t blame him for it. He looks young and a bit lost, in between scattered books, and Louis can’t resist the urge to lean in and wrap him up in a hug. “It’ll be alright,” he tells him, rubbing his back when Harry relaxes into his embrace. “This is just a start, yeah? It’s alright if this doesn’t have all the answers. The world’s bigger than just this library, just these books.”</p>
<p>Harry nods, but he doesn’t seem too convinced, seems a little overwhelmed by the amount of books around them, the amount of information they don’t yet know. Louis can’t fault him for it, not when the pressure is getting to him too, this tightness in his chest that makes him worry that he’s going to end up letting Harry down, one way or another. </p>
<p>He squeezes Harry’s knee, brings him in for another hug that’s just as much for his benefit as it is for Harry’s. “It’ll be alright,” he repeats, wondering how many times he’ll have to say it in order for either of them to believe it.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>Harry’s a bit needy all evening, and Louis indulges him, has given up on trying not to touch him since he keeps failing at it. So he lets Harry rest his head on his lap while they watch TV, his hand carding gently through Harry’s curls. They watch some show that Louis can’t remember a single thing of as soon as he turns off the TV, and for a moment he wonders if Harry will be alright on his own, in the studio, wonders if he should ask him if he’d like to take the mattress back into his bedroom, but the question never makes it past his lips.
</p>
<p>He wonders if it should have, when he’s still awake at three in the morning, straining his ears to listen to any sounds that might be coming from the studio.</p>
<p>When he finally does fall asleep, it’s restless, and his dreams are anything but comforting. They’re vague at first, images and short little snippets, but he’s hurting in every single one of them. He’s lost and afraid, in dark woods and on the edge of a cliff; he’s breathless and running, being chased by something that he can’t even name but that he knows will destroy him if it gets to him.</p>
<p>And then he’s suddenly in his studio, watching Harry on his pedestal, looking just like he’d done before he’d come to life, except he’s not, not really, because his eyes are different. His eyes are wild and hurt and full of agony and when Louis takes a step towards him he can feel small pieces of marble pierce his bare feet. He reaches Harry and places a hand on his waist, comes away with dust clinging to his fingertips. Harry’s voice is loud, and directly in his head, filled with betrayal, telling him things that Louis knows are true, deep down, things that Harry would never say when he’s awake. He watches him disintegrate before his eyes while Harry’s voice lingers, telling him <em>you said we had time</em> and <em>you said it would be alright.</em> </p>
<p>Louis wakes up with a scream stuck in his throat and Harry’s voice telling him <em>this is all your fault</em> in his ears. It’s dark and something about the darkness feels suffocating, but he can’t make his legs move, can’t make his hands lift the blanket because it feels heavy, and everything in his throat is thick, like he’d inhaled the dust from when Harry had disintegrated and - Harry.</p>
<p><em>Harry</em>. </p>
<p>Louis needs - he’s not sure, but he needs to see Harry, needs to know that he’s still alright, that he’s there and alive and Louis hasn’t fucked this up completely yet. He needs to know that Harry is okay, and that he doesn’t hate him, because he should, if they can’t figure this out then he <em>should</em> hate him, even if it will kill Louis to be hated by someone as wonderful as Harry, he should-</p>
<p>“Louis?”</p>
<p>Slowly, he’s starting to realize that the blanket feels heavy because there’s someone on top of it, not because his dreams have chased him into reality and he’s actually suffocating. The someone is Harry, sitting at the side of the bed, his hand gentle on Louis’ shoulder, and Louis swallows back tears but he can’t stop them from sliding down his cheeks no matter how hard he tries.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he whispers, as he’s pushing himself to sit up, and he’s not sure why that prompts Harry to wrap him in his arms but he’s so thankful for it, for the comfort that it brings him, even if he doesn’t deserve it. “I’m so sorry, Harry.”</p>
<p>Harry doesn’t say anything at first. He just rubs his back, all the way from the top of his spine to the dip at the bottom, and back up, slow enough that Louis can match his breathing to it, can find his lungs opening up to let air in once again. He sniffles, face pressed against a cool marble shoulder, his fingertips digging into Harry’s back because he needs to know that he can touch him without having him turn to dust in front of his eyes. “Sorry,” he says again, but this time it’s because he’s never once cried in front of anyone without feeling the need to apologize afterwards, like his vulnerability is an unwelcome burden on those he loves, rather than something they choose to carry. “I had a nightmare. I’m - I hope I didn’t scare you.”</p>
<p>There’s dry lips pressing to his forehead, cool fingers brushing away his tears, and under the cover of darkness Louis lets himself have this, lets himself be taken care of because he can’t always be strong, no matter how hard he tries. “Are you okay now?” Harry whispers, and Louis isn’t sure if he should nod or shake his head, so he does neither. Harry’s cool lips brush over his cheek, before he brings him in for another hug, and Louis is so <em>tired</em>. </p>
<p>“I wish I could stop hurting you,” he mumbles, and Harry lets out a soft sound, one that Louis wants to protest even if Harry hasn’t actually said a single word. </p>
<p>“You’re not hurting me,” Harry voices quietly, and Louis wants to shake his head but he’s comfortable, being cradled by Harry, so he doesn’t do much more than let out a tired, protesting huff. It earns him a slight tug to his ear, which almost, irrationally, makes him want to smile. “No, listen. I don’t know where that’s coming from, but you’re <em>not</em>. You’ve been doing all you can to help me. What are you sorry for, Lou? For bringing me to life? I’ve told you, I <em>want</em> to be alive.”</p>
<p>“You want to be human.” Louis whispers, and Harry breathes out shakily. “Don’t, you can’t tell me that you don’t. I know. You’ve told me. This is, we’re trying, and I know I’ve told you that it’ll be alright, that I won’t give up until I’ve found a solution and I <em>won’t</em>, but-”</p>
<p>“But you can’t promise me that we’ll figure it out.” Harry says quietly. “I know. I know we might not - I think I’ve known that even before we went to the library and I saw the look on your face. I - I want to say it’s okay.” He swallows, makes Louis look at him even though the room is still dark enough that he can’t see the exact expression in Harry’s eyes. Somehow looking at them still manages to calm him down a little. “I don’t know if it’s okay. But I know that it’s not your fault if it doesn’t happen, Louis. I can see how hard you’re trying. I can see that you’re trying to protect me, and shoulder all the weight of this, and that’s so sweet of you, it is, but like you said earlier, <em>I’m</em> living through it. You can’t do this on your own. It’s not fair. Not to yourself and not to me.”</p>
<p>Louis feels chastised and comforted, all at once, and he nods sheepishly, wipes the last of his tears from his face. “I just want to make it right,” he whispers, and Harry bops his nose with his finger. </p>
<p>“Stop making amends,” he says softly. “Even if I never become human, you’ve given me more <em>life</em> in the past two days than I’d hoped for. I know we have to figure this out, and we <em>will</em>, one way or another, but those things we did? The self care and the movies and the library - those are important too. They make me feel human even if I’m not. Okay?”</p>
<p>It isn’t entirely okay, but Louis gets what Harry is trying to say. “Okay,” he agrees quietly, wrapping his own arms around Harry again, holding him close, trying to give comfort as well as receive it. “But you’ll tell me, if it isn’t, yeah? If there’s something more I can do?”</p>
<p>“I will,” Harry promises him. “If I know what it is, then I will. If I need something - but like I said. I like the other things. The non research things. I like knowing what it’s like to be alive, not just reading about it or seeing it on TV. Promise me we’ll do those things too, yeah? Even if that gets in the way of figuring things out? We have time.”</p>
<p>Louis swallows, shifting to lie back down, his head propped up on his hand. “Not in my dream, we didn’t,” he whispers. “In my dream, you - I came into the studio, and you were up on your pedestal, and you crumbled to dust the moment I touched you. And I could only stand there and watch, as you disintegrated before my eyes, and you told me that I lied to you, that this - that it was all my fault, and that I promised you it’d be okay, and I <em>did</em>, Harry, I have said those things, and what if I’m wrong? What if you-” </p>
<p>“Leave you?”</p>
<p>It’s sobering, hearing those words out loud, and Louis shudders, wants to avert his gaze because it’s too much, he’s too naked right now when Harry can hear the words that he hasn’t said. The words he hadn’t even dared to give voice to, in his head. That had slipped into his subconscious because they needed to be acknowledged even when Louis wasn’t ready to. “I don’t-” he starts, but stops himself because he’s got no idea where to even take that sentence, no defense. </p>
<p>Harry just hums, and brushes a kiss over his forehead. “I won’t,” he says quietly, and Louis can’t help but think <em>no, because you can’t</em>, but that thought feels too heavy to say out loud even if he thinks that maybe he should. Maybe it’s something to acknowledge, the fear that Harry might leave once he doesn’t need Louis anymore. Not even stop loving him, but stop needing him around, stop wanting him to be around.</p>
<p>Or maybe it’s just something he’s going to have to learn to be okay with. </p>
<p>“I’m tired.” He whispers instead, and he means it as far more than just the fatigue from being woken up by a nightmare. He’s tired, worn down to his bones, and it doesn’t help that he feels like he has no right to be, that any sort of selfish emotion should be suppressed because Harry is the only one that’s allowed to be affected by this. He knows it isn’t healthy, that it’s only going to lead to more nightmares, that he needs to start talking. He knows that Harry will listen, but he doesn’t know if Harry <em>should</em> listen, if it won’t just add to his worry and fears. It’s too much, at least for right now, and sleep won’t solve everything but it’s at least a start. “I’m sorry for waking you up.” He realizes it sounds like he’s dismissing him, and he can tell that Harry takes it as such when he pulls back in a way that feels just a little too abrupt. It’s instinct, reaching out and resting his hand on Harry’s. “Thank you. It helps, you being here.” More than he has words for, more than he is ready to admit, at the very least.</p>
<p>Harry watches him, and Louis is grateful for the darkness, for the way that he can’t quite read him as well as he would be able to in broad daylight. “You’re welcome,” he says, and it’s a bit tentative, like he wants to say something else as well. It’s funny, how that works. How much is said when the actual words being spoken don’t match up at all. “Do you want me to stay?” </p>
<p>Louis is reminded of when he’d asked him something similar before. When he’d stayed in the living room because he’d thought that’s what Louis wanted. When he’d seemed so comfortable putting Louis’ needs ahead of his own. He reaches out, feeling for Harry’s skin under his fingertips as though it’ll give him some kind of clue. “Only if you want to.” He whispers, a part of him still holding its breath, unsure of the reply he’ll get.</p>
<p>Harry shifts, and for a moment Louis thinks he’s going to leave. But he just pulls a pillow towards him, resting his head on top of it, lying on top of the blankets with an arm curling protectively around Louis’ waist. He’s not giving him a chance to protest, just presses a kiss to his shoulder and whispers “get some sleep, Louis.” </p>
<p>So Louis does.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>He wakes up alone the next morning, but before his brain can convince him to freak out, Harry pops his head into the bedroom, face brightening when he sees him awake. “Morning!” He calls out, and Louis finds the tension in his chest fading somewhat at the expression on Harry’s face, the fact that he seems anything but awkward. “I’m making breakfast, do you want waffles or pancakes?”</p>
<p>Louis pushes himself into a sitting position, rubbing a hand over his face and stifling a yawn. A look at the clock tells him it’s a little after nine, and as if on cue, his stomach growls. “You don’t have to do that,” he says, almost automatically, and Harry gives him a blank stare.</p>
<p>“I’m making breakfast,” he repeats, as though Louis hadn’t heard him the first time, but something in his voice still makes him flush, makes him feel chastised, even before Harry continues. “Not because you want me to, but because <em>I</em> want me to. I like cooking. I woke up at seven this morning and I’ve been watching the cooking channel, and they did this really amazing looking waffle, and I sort of want to try it out-” he pauses, frowns. “You know what, I take back my question. You’re getting waffles. And you’ll like them.” He points a spatula at Louis, as though he’s just daring Louis to disagree with him.</p>
<p>Louis can’t help but smile. “Yes’sir,” he can’t resist the urge to do a quick salute, then ducks under the cover just in time for Harry’s spatula to hit the blanket instead of him. “Rude!” He calls out, but he can’t help but grin to himself when he hears Harry giggle.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>Breakfast is amazing, just like Harry had promised, and Louis makes sure to let him know just how much he’s appreciated him cooking for him, to the point where Harry threatens to hit him with the spatula again. Harry then makes Louis do the washing up, which he wants to complain about - why can’t it be left til later? - but he’s quick to cave, to wash and dry the few dishes that Harry had used, a smile on his face that feels like a fast turnaround from the way he’d felt earlier this morning.</p>
<p>He’s not sure why it is, whether he’s just doing a good job at lying to himself, or if Harry staying with him, holding him while he slept, had soothed some of the worries that were so eager to rear their heads when he was alone. Maybe it was simply the light of day putting everything in perspective, reminding him that every day was a new one and he could only do his best.</p>
<p>Whatever it is, Louis is grateful for it, is filled with renewed vigor and determination, which leads him to his studio, where Harry’s already made a place for himself, books scattered around him on the mattress. It’s natural, for Louis to dip his fingers into Harry’s curls for a quick scratch of his scalp, before he moves to his work bench, picking up his chisel once he’s decided what part of the sculpture he’s going to focus on.</p>
<p>While Louis works, Harry’s voice fills the room, reading from the books they’d picked up from the library. He reads about different myths, about their history and the lessons to be learned from them, and as his voice goes hoarse and words fill the room, both of them hope that today will be the day that they’ll finally stumble upon a clue.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>That afternoon, when the weather is still far from perfect but it’s at least stopped raining, Louis chances taking Harry out again. They’d had lunch, or rather, Louis had eaten lunch - though he’s not sure that dumping a ton of sugary cereal into a bowl should be considered lunch - and since he’d decided that afternoons were for spending time with Harry and their morning had been a fruitless and frustrating endeavour, he’d figured that they should do something fun to take their minds off of things. </p>
<p>So he takes him to the zoo, even when the mere thought of going outside with Harry still fills him with terror. It’s late enough in the afternoon that he knows there won’t be too many people there though, especially on a weekday, but that doesn’t mean that he feels at ease, exposing Harry to other people. The cab driver thankfully doesn’t seem to care, barely glances at either of them, but for the first hour or so, Louis still struggles to relax, waiting for the other shoe to drop and someone in the zoo to point at Harry and scream. </p>
<p>Harry seems nervous too, holding onto Louis’ hand as though he’s worried he’ll be pulled away, displayed in a cage like the animals here used to be, before animal rights’ activists and general knowledge had changed the appearance of zoos to be what they were today. But slowly, over the course of time, while they wander around and see the different animals, he relaxes.</p>
<p>It’s a sight to see. A joyful Harry, tugging him towards the meerkats, staring at them with giant eyes and a grin that spreads across practically his entire face. That same smile - impossibly - widening even more when they get a look at the penguins. </p>
<p>“Some penguins mate for life,” Louis tells him, remembering late night TV, the soothing voice of David Attenborough lulling him to sleep after one too many energy drinks had kept him going through his classes. “They propose too. With pebbles. I think that’s sort of sweet, don’t you think?” It’s not that much different from humans, he supposes, though their rocks are often a lot more valuable than something you can find on the ground. </p>
<p>“They’re so cute,” Harry whispers, and Louis can’t help the thought, the <em>you’re so cute</em> that flashes across his mind but thankfully never makes it past his lips. “They might be my favorite animal in the entire world.”</p>
<p>Louis chuckles. “In the entire world? That’s a bold statement, Haz.”</p>
<p>Harry gives him a thoughtful look. “I don’t need to see everything to know that what’s right in front of me is perfect.” He says quietly, and something about those words almost makes Louis blush. He averts his gaze, looks at the penguins, who are happily wandering around their enclosure, not paying anyone any mind. He supposes they’re pretty cool like that, indifferent to the vastness of the world and the opinions of people. </p>
<p>When he glances back at Harry, about to ask him if he wants to admire the penguins for a bit longer or if they should move on to the next enclosure, he finds him standing perfectly still, his expression no longer one of joy. It takes him a moment, before he realizes why Harry is so uncomfortable.</p>
<p>The culprit is a little girl, maybe five or six years old, staring at him with giant eyes, and Louis’ heart stops, his fingers automatically reaching out to wrap around Harry’s hand, as though it’s not too late to cover him, as though that small movement could do anything to protect either of them. But his hand relaxes at Louis’ touch, if just enough for him to slip his fingers through Harry’s. He can tell he’s on edge though, terrified, and Louis can’t help but think that no animal in the world is ever going to be worth the risk he’d taken by bringing Harry here today. He swallows down the urge to apologize, wishes he could do something without drawing more attention to themselves, but in the end he just stands there, in a silent staring contest with a child. Her eyebrows raise a little bit, and he bites his bottom lip, giving her a look that’s meant to plead with her, signal her to not say anything to the adult that she’s with, whose hand she’s holding as she gawks at Harry. He wants to say something, tell her off maybe, or just find some feeble words to reassure Harry, but his mouth feels dry and his tongue is made of rubber, and all he can feel is the slow, slow trickle of fear down his spine as the girl parts her lips.</p>
<p>He should’ve known better. He should’ve-</p>
<p>“Mister, I like your makeup,” the little girl declares, and Louis can feel Harry twitch beside him, can feel something akin to relief course through his own veins. “You look really pretty.” She tugs at her mother’s hand. “Doesn’t he look really pretty mommy?”</p>
<p>The woman gives Harry no more than a fleeting glance, before patting the top of the little girl’s head. “You’re right, he does. C’mon love, let’s go find your daddy and Matt, okay?” </p>
<p>They’re gone before either of them can react, and for a moment or so after, Louis just stands there, blood rushing in his ears, his fingers trembling, knees feeling weak with relief. He can tell that Harry’s in a similar state, because he sort of sags a little bit, and instinct has Louis wrapping an arm around his waist, fingers pressing into his side. “You okay?” He whispers, and Harry shivers, but then nods.</p>
<p>“I thought-” he starts, but then only lets out a soft exhale, his body pressing closer to Louis’ like he has any comfort to offer. Louis isn’t sure that he does but he also knows that he always will, so he lets him steady himself against him, offering strength that he’s barely managing to access himself. </p>
<p>“Me too,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry, this was a bad idea, I should’ve known-” </p>
<p>Harry shakes his head, curls brushing past Louis’ face as he turns towards him, wraps him up in a hug. “Don’t. It’s okay. We’re okay.” He pauses. “Better than, even.” Louis isn’t sure that Harry truly believes that, because his voice is anything but steady, even though it sounds more convincing with every new word that falls from his lips. “This was bound to happen sooner or later, Lou. And honestly, it couldn’t have worked out better.”</p>
<p>His positive outlook amazes Louis sometimes, and though he wants to argue that they’d just gotten lucky, that it didn’t mean someone wouldn’t notice next time, he does feel a slight trickle of hope. If people think that Harry’s got makeup on now, when Louis can still so easily see how he’s not quite human, then maybe a few days or weeks from now, when Harry will look even more human, when his skin will look softer and less drawn on, maybe he can go anywhere he wants.</p>
<p>Maybe he won’t even need Louis to protect him.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>Louis has never been so grateful that the rest of their afternoon turns out to be uneventful. They wander around the zoo some more, see sea lions and turtles and giraffes, and every animal is Harry’s temporary new favorite, but by the time they’ve seen most of the exhibits he’s still of the firm belief that penguins are the absolute best animal in the world. So of course Louis buys him a penguin plushie from the souvenir shop, taking care to pick out the best looking one, while Harry waits outside. It’s nerve wracking, leaving him alone in a public place, but Harry’s right, it’s bound to happen sometime or another, and there’s no point in postponing it just because Louis is nervous or scared of what might happen.</p>
<p>(He still hurries, and tries to push down his impatience when the line in front of the cash register moves a lot slower than he’d like)</p>
<p>Harry lights up, when Louis presents him with the stuffed animal, and Louis feels that tension in his stomach fade, feels it being replaced with something soft and warm, something <em>tender</em>. He likes seeing him this happy, likes that the smile never once fades from his face the entire trip home. </p>
<p>“I love animals,” Harry sighs, when they’re home, and Louis smiles at that, foregoes putting on music in favor of finding a documentary on Netflix, something that’ll give Harry the chance to learn more, if he wants. It turns out to be the right choice, because Harry plants himself on the couch immediately, barely giving Louis more than a second glance when he sits down beside him with a cup of tea. Harry’s still got his penguin plushie in his arms, and while Harry watches TV, Louis watches him and he can’t help but daydream of the next adventure he’ll get to take Harry on.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>Over the course of the next few days, they continue their routine. Louis works on his sculpture in the mornings, while Harry reads from the various books they’ve found, jotting down information that he thinks might be useful, and discarding the books that prove to be nothing more than a waste of time. They try not to get discouraged by the fact that the amount of actual information is minuscule compared to the pile of books that are cast aside, but it’s hard not to, sometimes. It’s why they both look forward to, and <em>need</em>, the afternoons. </p>
<p>On Wednesday, they watch a romantic movie, and then Harry attempts to get Louis to ballroom dance with him, despite the fact that neither of them know the steps. It involves YouTube videos and a whole lot of tripping and stepping on each other’s toes, and half of the time they just end up swaying together to some not-quite rhythm, but it’s nice. </p>
<p>On Thursday, after Harry has pretty much scowled all morning as Louis was busy sculpting genitals - <em>not</em> thinking of Liam or Zayn or anyone in particular at this point because that is hardly going to be helpful - they spend the afternoon cooking, and then go out at night for a picnic under the stars.</p>
<p>On Friday, Louis stops after only an hour of work, when Harry seems to crumble under the weight of what they are trying to accomplish, and he cuddles him while they watch a documentary about penguins. After lunch, with Harry still a bit needy, they build a blanket fort in the living room, and spend the afternoon talking about all their favorite things in the world. Louis’ favorite things are mainly things he’s experienced, and though Harry hasn’t had quite those same opportunities, he still loves hearing all about them, and he in turn shares the things that he’s looking forward to. The memories that he’s yet to make, and Louis can sense the sadness that lingers under the surface but neither of them ever let it get the upper hand.</p>
<p>On Saturday, Harry refuses to do research at first. It’s not until Louis takes the time to sit down with him and makes him talk about it that he confesses why that is; and the way he looks up at Louis when he whispers “as long as we haven’t done all we can, there’s still hope” almost breaks his heart. </p>
<p>Louis doesn’t end up working on Saturday. Instead he takes Harry down to the shelter, and buys him a bunny. His smile, soft and grateful, like he knows exactly what Louis is trying to do, is worth the ever present fear of discovery that’s gnawing at him, the relief when nobody bats an eye at seeing Harry. He could’ve gone alone, he knows, or he could’ve taken him to some pet shop or a breeder, but Louis has always liked rescues, has always liked the thought of a second chance. </p>
<p>The shelter has cages for sale, and most of the supplies that they need, and even though it’s a struggle getting everything up the stairs - Harry too busy holding the box with his bunny - it’s worth it for the look that stays on Harry’s face for the rest of the afternoon.</p>
<p>On Sunday, Louis wakes up to light filtering through his curtains, to silence in the flat and this odd feeling of urgency. He’s not sure what’s causing it, because nothing seems amiss when he gets up to check; Harry’s in his studio, cuddling his bunny, and he looks happier and lighter than he’s done in a few days, but Louis still feels it, something in his bones that makes him jittery, unable to fully focus.</p>
<p>He finds himself unable to concentrate on his sculpture, that’s more than half done at this point, and since Harry is preoccupied with his new pet, Louis sits himself down on Harry’s blanket and sifts through the books that they’ve yet to read. The pile is dwindling, suspense growing inside of him with every book he discards, transforming into nausea, but there’s something that’s pushing him to keep going, to pick up the next book, and the next, to keep scanning texts because somehow he can sense it, knows that he’s close. To something, even if he’s not sure what.</p>
<p>The text in front of him only catches his attention about halfway through. He’s flipped through a couple of the pages when a line piques his interest, and he finds himself flipping back to the start, frowning as he attempts to focus enough to read through the article. </p>
<p>
  <em>Mythology in modern times,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>An analysis by Niall Horan</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Myths are commonly defined as traditional stories, popular misconceptions or imaginary entities. In essence, they’re viewed as stories from a time long since past, featuring (demi)Gods or supernatural entities; not necessarily based on fact. It begs the question, what stories or truths we hold self evident today will become myth in the future?</em>
</p>
<p>Louis’ frown deepens, as he reads through the article, the world around him falling away, sounds muted, until all that he can focus on, all that he <em>is</em>, is this moment, this paper in his hand and those words that he’s taking in. He doesn’t even notice Harry, who has stopped playing with his bunny and who has scooted closer to Louis, reading over his shoulder once he’s noticed that something has caught his eye. He doesn’t notice the way he’s pressed against him, or how the bunny is nibbling at the hem of his sweater. All he can read is those words, the ones Niall wholeheartedly believes in, or so it feels from his impassioned writing. </p>
<p>
  <em>Therefore, I would argue, we need to stop discarding these stories as no more than a made up tale, and instead embrace them as part of our heritage: stories that will go on to inspire future generations and that will showcase what we as a society deem the very essence of our being.</em>
</p>
<p>He’s not sure he’s been breathing at all, Louis realizes as he puts the book down, and his heart is stuck between beating too fast and feeling too sluggish at the same time. His fingers are shaking and his head feels <em>numb</em>, because it feels too simple, too much of a coincidence that he’s had this hurried feeling all day only to then stumble upon this article.</p>
<p>But then, that’s exactly the kind of thing Niall had been referring to. Things that happened that made no sense, things that were proven to be true but cast aside as impossible, figments of imagination. A government conspiracy, at best, a sign of insanity at worst. But Niall believes them. Niall believes that these things happen even today, and from the way he’s written about it, Louis has no doubt that he’s not just heard stories, he’s experienced them. </p>
<p>Harry’s still pressed to his side, staying oddly quiet, but when Louis reaches out for him he just wraps his arms around him and presses his face to the back of his neck. He’s trembling, and Louis doesn’t have to wonder what’s going on in his head. Doesn’t have to ask him how he’s feeling because he’s feeling the same thing. Excitement. Dread. Worry, that this will be a wild goose chase and they’ll end up disappointed. But underneath it all, impossible to quell, the fierce hope that maybe they’ll actually find their answer this time.</p>
<p>“Breathe,” Louis tells him softly, though it’s a reminder for himself as much as it is one for Harry. “Your bunny is eating my sweater.” The bunny has nibbled a hole in it, in fact, and Louis doesn’t <em>care</em> but he needs something to dissolve the tension, and it works, because Harry lets out a laugh. It’s half airless and half a little too giddy, but he scoops up the bunny and cuddles it and Louis eagerly turns around to watch him. He has this half formed thought that he might like to exist in this moment forever, in this lightness that exists between and within them, this hope that hasn’t been worn down by experience yet. “Have you thought of a name for her yet?”</p>
<p>Harry brushes his fingertips over the bunny’s ears, watching as it twitches, and shakes his head. “No,” he says softly, thoughtfully. “She hasn’t given me her name yet.”</p>
<p>Louis arches an eyebrow. “She’s supposed to?”</p>
<p>There’s a small smile on Harry’s face. “Well, yeah. Things don’t just get named, Lou. They name themselves. You just have to listen, and they’ll tell you eventually, if they want you to know.” He boops the bunny’s nose. “She’s still trying to figure out if she likes me enough to tell me.”</p>
<p>It’s the weirdest conversation. Then again, Harry is the weirdest human. Louis is hopelessly endeared by him. “I’m sure she’ll tell you soon,” he whispers, because he can’t imagine anyone - human or animal - not liking Harry enough to trust him with their true name. “What’s your real name?” He wonders, looks around at the sculptures in the room, wondering if any of them resented the name he’d given them, even if they didn’t have enough of a consciousness to resent him. </p>
<p>Harry’s quick to answer. “It’s Harry.” He deadpans, and that small smile deepens, gives him those dimples that Louis is so fond of. There’s something teasing to his tone, and Louis feels a warmth blossom inside of him, even if he wants to sort of stick his tongue out at him on principle. It feels nice though, knowing that he’s found Harry’s real name, even when he hadn’t been consciously thinking of it. </p>
<p>“You’ve always been Harry?” He still finds himself needing to ask, remembering why he’d named him that way, some silly reason that he wonders now, was it really that silly, or had he felt the name fit him? Had Harry told him long before either of them had known he’d come to exist this way? </p>
<p>Harry smiles. “I don’t know about that. But I know I’ve never been anyone but Harry.” He looks down at his bunny, who is now happily nibbling on his sweater instead. “I don’t know if I knew my name before you did, but I know that it’s right. I know I’m not a John or a Klaus-” he glances around, “or a Niall.”</p>
<p>It’s far from subtle, but Louis lets him get away with it, just smiles at him. “I agree. Definitely not a Klaus.” He teases, reaching out to brush his fingertips over the bunny’s fur. “I hope she’ll share her name soon. It’ll be nice to welcome her to the family.”</p>
<p>“Family.” Harry sounds it out like he’s trying to taste the word. “Is that what we are?”</p>
<p>Louis frowns a bit. “Yeah. I mean. I think so? Family’s about caring for people, protecting them, being there for them. About investing in each other and being accepted for who you are. So, yeah. You’re my family. And even when you move out, you will be, just like Liam and Zayn are my family.” He reassures him. </p>
<p>There’s an odd look on Harry’s face, the soft <em>thunk</em> of a marble teardrop that hits the floor, startling the bunny and making her hop away. “I like that,” he whispers, though he’s not looking at Louis, and Louis doesn’t make him, only reaches out to gently card his fingers through his hair. “I like - I like that I don’t have to be alone.”</p>
<p>Louis’ heart aches. “Never,” he promises him. “You’ll never have to be alone.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>Their elation makes way for something more tempered when they can’t immediately find a way to reach Niall. He doesn’t seem to have an email address or a website. He doesn’t have any social media. There’s articles written by him and there’s a Wikipedia page, marking him as some kind of Mythology expert, but nothing substantial to really go on. </p>
<p>So Louis does the sensible thing. He asks Liam, who has a friend in law enforcement, if there’s any way they could find out how to contact Niall. It might or might not be a hundred percent legal, and Liam might or might not frown so deeply that Louis fears his face will remain like that, but Liam eventually caves because Liam is the <em>best</em> and will do whatever Louis really needs him to. </p>
<p>It’ll take a few days, Liam says, and so during that time, Louis works on his sculpture, and Harry pets his bunny - who has eventually revealed herself to be called Bethany, which is a bit of a stuck up name for a bunny, but Louis isn’t about to argue with an animal over its true name - and they cook and they watch TV and they try not to get their hopes up and fail miserably. </p>
<p>Louis writes ten different letters to Niall - trusting that Liam will provide him with a way to contact him - and discards them all, because none of them sound quite right and all of them have far too much information in it that he wouldn’t want anyone else to read, and this <em>would</em> be the one time that the post office ends up losing his mail or opening it. Louis is not a paranoid person by nature but when it comes to Harry he’s not about to take any chances. He writes and he writes and he comes to the conclusion that none of it makes more sense than going to see Niall in person, even though he has a feeling that Niall’s not going to be too happy about that.</p>
<p>It’s been five days, of working on the new version of his sculpture - that’s coming along nicely but that still needs so much work that Louis feels guilty about it sometimes, even though he’d contacted his client and told her that he’d had a problem with the first sculpture and he’d had to start over, and she’d been nothing but nice about it and had assured him that there was no deadline - before Liam calls him up, starting the conversation with a sigh that Louis feels guilty over too, even if he doesn’t apologize. He knows that Liam knows he’s sorry, and he also knows that Liam knows that he’s not going to be as sorry as he should be. Liam also knows that Louis knows that Liam’s always going to want to help him, and that Louis wouldn’t ask him to do something if it could actually get him in trouble.</p>
<p>Well. He’d <em>try</em> not to ask him, at least. And he should probably care more about Liam’s friend who might actually get in trouble if he gets caught, but it’s awfully hard to care when Liam actually has Niall’s address for him.</p>
<p>It’s someplace secluded, in Ireland, far enough away from civilization that the only way to get there is to rent a car, and then possibly hike through the woods, but it’s an address, a way to reach Niall, and Louis knows that he promised Harry he wouldn’t leave him alone, but-</p>
<p>The risk of taking Harry with him, as much as part of him wants to, is too great. Going out with him in public is one thing when he’s able to get him home within an hour. Actually traveling to a different country, being away from home for days on end.. It’s terrifying.</p>
<p>Plus, there’s Bethany. Not that they couldn’t find another solution for her, but she’s a convenient excuse, and even though Harry <em>knows </em>she’s a convenient excuse, he doesn’t argue with Louis when Louis tells him that maybe he should go see Niall alone. Louis isn’t sure if it’s just his imagination, but Harry actually seems sort of relieved at the prospect of not having to go with him.</p>
<p>Still. </p>
<p>It takes another week for Louis to actually pluck up the courage to go. He’d claim that he’s just making arrangements, but that’d be lying, and Louis has a habit of trying not to lie to Harry, if he can avoid it. He knows that he’s putting it off, knows that he should pick himself up by the collar and <em>go</em>, but there’s so much at stake that it feels daunting.</p>
<p>What if Niall doesn’t want to talk to him? </p>
<p>What if Niall doesn’t have any answers?</p>
<p>What if Harry needs him, and he’s not there?</p>
<p>What if his absence will turn Harry back to stone?</p>
<p>He’d managed a week without him, the last time, but Louis doesn’t want to take any risks. He doesn’t want to figure out how to make Harry human only to find out that it’s too late.</p>
<p>It’s Harry, who eventually convinces him to go. It’s with a tightlipped smile and unsure eyes, but still. He hands Louis his bag with this look on his face and Louis just wants to tell him that it’s alright, that he doesn’t need to go, there’s still so much to do here. There’s his sculpture to finish (though, granted, considering the last one took him a full four weeks when he wasn’t doing much else, he’s not going to be able to finish this one anytime soon, not when he’s spending time with Harry too), there’s-</p>
<p>There’s a million more reasons but none that are important enough. None that matter more than Harry does, and even though Harry is the exact reason that he wants to stay, he’s also the only reason he’d ever be convinced to go.</p>
<p>“Call me.” He tells him, bag in hand, jacket on, though he’s yet to put on his shoes. Another way to postpone the inevitable, though he knows he’ll have to hurry if he wants to catch the train. “Every day. Okay? And call Liam and Zayn if you feel like something’s wrong. Promise me.” </p>
<p>Harry gives him a small smile, one that’s fond and a little amused, even though Louis can clearly see the hesitance in his eyes, the worry and fear that Louis knows concerns them both. “You said all of that already,” he points out mildly, and Louis bites down on his lip. “I will.” Harry promises him, even though <em>he</em> has said that already, but Louis still needs to hear him say it one more time. “I’ll call, and I’ll make sure I’m okay. It’s just for a few days. You’ll be back within the week, and we know that I’ll be okay for that long.”</p>
<p>Louis knows that he’s right, that it wouldn’t make sense for Harry to turn back into a sculpture within a few days if it’d taken more than a week the last time, but <em>still</em>. He can’t be sure, and he can’t help when he’s not with him, so it’s terrifying. Louis has never liked the feeling of being powerless, and it’s even worse when he can’t help the people he cares about most.</p>
<p>“Okay.” He says, but his fingers are trembling when he laces up his shoes, and his bag feels heavy when he picks it back up. “Okay, I’ll see you soon, yeah?”</p>
<p>Harry smiles a bit wider at that, wraps him up in a hug and then tucks down Louis’ collar, making it all nice and neat even though Louis knows it’ll be a matter of minutes before it’s all crumpled up again, nerves making him fidget with his clothes. “I’ll miss you,” he says, and Louis almost puts his bag down again, almost wants to tell him, for the umpteenth time, that he doesn’t have to go. Harry doesn’t let him though, gives a meaningful look at the clock and a light shove to Louis’ back. “Go. It’s alright.”</p>
<p>Louis swallows. “I’ll miss you too.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>It takes him an hour on the train to stop freaking out completely. But when his phone stays silent, no slew of messages or missed calls signaling trouble, he finds the tension in his chest easing just enough for him to breathe and appreciate the countryside that’s whizzing by.</p>
<p>Louis has always been a country boy. He loves nature, even though he’s always put off the desire to take long hikes by the long trip he has to take to get to somewhere that isn’t city, but whenever he travels he’s reminded of just how much he loves green. He loves the trees and the grass, the different shades that are all beautiful in their own respect. </p>
<p>(Though none of them are quite as beautiful as Harry’s eyes).</p>
<p>He loves how it makes him feel like he can <em>breathe</em>. How the air is just a little bit cleaner and crisper out of the city, and even though he’s in a train and the air there is recycled and temperature adjusted, it still has the same effect on him as walking outside in the countryside would do. </p>
<p>Maybe, he thinks, he’ll retire to the countryside when he’s older. Somewhere that’ll give him a chance to enjoy the sights, someplace with space, where he can still do his work, because he can’t imagine himself ever not wanting to sculpt. Someplace with animals, maybe, a couple chickens and a cow. One of those fluffy ones, that look so cuddleable. </p>
<p>Harry would probably love that, he thinks. He’d probably have to drag him out of the stable at night, just so he wouldn’t spend the night with the cow. He’d probably name it something ridiculous too, like Petunia, because the cow told him that was her name. </p>
<p>He’s lost in these daydreams, as the scenery changes around him, as the train takes him closer and closer to his destination. Lost in thoughts of how the future could be, if everything worked out in their favor. </p>
<p>For once, he lets himself have these dreams. For once he doesn’t call himself back to reality, doesn’t acknowledge that Harry doesn’t love him enough to stay with him once he becomes human. That he won’t be there to name cows and move to the countryside with Louis, won’t continue to live with him as friends when Harry could find so much more with someone else. He doesn’t think of how lonely he’d be on his own, because in his daydreams Harry is there, even if he knows it’ll never actually happen.</p>
<p>After all, what’s the harm in a little daydream?</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>After a five hour train ride, Louis arrives in Holyhead, where he’ll have to take the ferry to Dublin. He’s got a few hours to kill, and since he’s achy and stiff from sitting on a train for so long, he decides to get himself something to eat from a shop and take a short walk.</p>
<p>In reality, his short walk means that he finds himself somewhere just outside of the town, out of earshot, dialing Harry’s number.</p>
<p>He tells himself that it’s just to check in, just to know that he’s alright, but the moment the dial tone changes, the moment he hears Harry’s <em>“hello?”</em> even if his voice is somewhat tinny, he can’t stop himself from smiling, from hiding that smile against his sleeve. </p>
<p>“Hi,” he finds himself a little breathless, blames the crisp air that’s made its way into his lungs after hours of breathing the same recycled air on the train. “It’s me.”</p>
<p>“Hi.” Harry’s voice sounds different too, and Louis wonders if he’s smiling, wonders what he’s doing right now. If he’s sat on the couch, Bethany in his lap, wrapped in his favorite blanket. Wonders if he’s got candles on, and music. Maybe some TV. He strains to hear it, but there’s no sound other than Harry’s voice and breathing. “How’s the trip?”</p>
<p>Louis arches his back, satisfied when it pops and relieves some of the pain in his spine. “Good.” He says softly. “Long.” He frowns. “Bit boring, if I’m honest.”</p>
<p>Harry chuckles. “I’d love to see it though,” he muses. “Just - travel. I’m so jealous right now.” </p>
<p>Louis knows that Harry doesn’t mean to make him feel chastised, let alone guilty, but he still feels a small stab of annoyance at himself, for complaining about something that Harry could only dream of. “It’s nice,” he allows grudgingly. “Just, I like being home. Don’t get me wrong, I like traveling, it’s just, it’s different, when you’re on the way to something. It’s easy to forget everything that happens on the way, when you’ve got your sights on where you’re going.” He knows that’s probably a metaphor for a lot of his life, if he’s honest, but his stomach is growling and he’s not particularly in the mood for analogies about his life. “Plus,” he says, too honest for his own good, “some company would’ve been nice. I’d love to take you out sometime, Haz.”</p>
<p>“Me too.” Harry sounds longing, and Louis feels another stab, this time not of annoyance but of something deeper, something so rooted in his core that he can’t breathe. “It’s quiet here, without you. I never realized how much noise you made.”</p>
<p>It makes him laugh. “Well, thanks, love, that’s just what I wanted to hear.”</p>
<p>Harry chuckles too. “I just mean, you bring life to this place. Without you it’s just - soulless. I’ve had on the TV for most of the day, and I’ve got Bethany and the sculptures to talk to, but it’s just not the same. It makes me feel a little bit lost.” </p>
<p>Louis can hear him frown through the phone, and he can’t help but wonder if a part of Harry resents him for it, for keeping him from the world. For being his only tether to everything else that he could potentially experience. “Soon,” he promises him. “Okay? Soon you’ll get to go everywhere, and you won’t even need to have me with you, if you don’t want. Just remember that. That’s the goal here.”</p>
<p>“Goodbye?” Harry whispers. “Goodbye is the goal?”</p>
<p>Louis frowns too. “No. I mean. Freedom. To go wherever you want, be whoever you want. There’s so many things that the world has to offer, so many beautiful places to go. You won’t have to be lost, or alone.” He’s almost careful in the way he says it, not sure why Harry sounds a little upset, or if maybe he’s just a bit out of sorts, now that he’s got no one around to give him direction. “But I miss you too.” He hopes that’ll make Harry feel a bit better, will make him smile a bit, because even if he can’t see it he can hear it through the phone and it always manages to make him feel better.</p>
<p>“Be safe, okay?” Harry whispers, and Louis can feel his heart ache. “I know that you know what you’re doing, but, come back to me safely please.”</p>
<p>Louis attempts a smile, something reassuring that Harry can hopefully hear. “Always.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>It’s late by the time he arrives in Dublin, and as much as he wants to keep going, wants to limit the amount of time that he spends away from Harry, he knows that he’s better off getting some rest. He’s booked a little B&amp;B that’s easy enough to find, and by the time he’s had a shower and settled in he can feel fatigue pressing down on his shoulders. </p>
<p>The bed’s comfortable, and once he’s set his alarms and put his phone on the charger, he can feel his eyes grow heavy, his body eager to succumb to sleep. He can’t though, promised Harry that he’d call, and even though he’s not got a lot to say, even though they’d talked to each other a couple of hours ago, he still doesn’t want to break his promise.</p>
<p>So he calls, and Harry briefly makes fun of how sleepy his voice sounds but Louis knows that he’s only doing it because he’s relieved, and maybe lonely too, and Louis tells him about the trip and the ferry and the cute couple that he’d bought dinner for because they were just so nice and had lifted his spirits. He tells him about the B&amp;B because Harry insists on knowing where he is, and then Harry tells him that he’s in Louis’ bed, and the way he says it is so shy, so hesitant, like he’s afraid Louis will tell him off.</p>
<p>Louis sort of wants to cry, if he’s honest, but at the same time, picturing Harry in his bed, snuggled up under the covers, surrounded by his scent, it’s a comforting image. “You better not have Bethany with you,” he warns, but there’s no heat in his voice. “Don’t want to come home to rabbit pellets all in my bed.” </p>
<p>Harry giggles, and Louis finds himself smiling into the darkness, finds that the sound of Harry’s laugh eases some of the pressure in his chest. “Stay with me for a bit, will you?” he murmurs, and his words might sound a little bit slurred but Harry still understands, stays with him on the phone, and Louis falls asleep to the sound of his breathing.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>He wakes up the next morning at a way too early hour, sits up to stretch and pop his back, his phone on the bedside table signaling that he’s got a text. Sleep in his eyes, it takes him a moment to focus, though when he can make out the image he can’t help but smile. </p>
<p>It’s Harry. In his bed. With Bethany on his chest. Looking cheeky and innocent all at once. There’s no text attached to the picture, but Louis doesn’t need it, knows everything that Harry had been saying when he sent him that picture. </p>
<p><em>Make sure to change the bedding before I get home</em>, he texts back, rubbing sleep from his eyes and dragging a hand through his hair. He wonders if it’d be rude to shower at this time, if he’d wake up any of the other guests. <em>Glad Bethany is taking care of you x</em>. </p>
<p>He finally succumbs to the desire for a shower, though he tries to keep it brief, tries to make sure that he doesn’t wake up anyone when he gets dressed and collects his belongings. He’d talked to the B&amp;B owner about having to leave early, when he’d made the reservation, and to his surprise there’s a box in front of his door, a little premade breakfast that he can take with him since the actual breakfast isn’t served for another hour. </p>
<p>There’s a chocolate croissant in the box, a small bottle of orange juice, as well as a packaged ham and cheese sandwich, and Louis happily munches on it as he heads outside, into darkness, eager to get started on the second part of his journey.</p>
<p>He takes a bus, then another bus, and finally ends up in the town closest to Niall’s address, even though it’s still over an hour by car from there. Luckily the rental shop opens early enough for Louis to get the car he’d reserved, and by the time the sun’s in the sky, Louis is on the last part of his trip, not counting the half hour hike Google Maps tells him he’ll need to do to get to Niall’s cabin.</p>
<p>He wonders, as he drives, what kind of welcome he’s going to get. People don’t tend to live in seclusion for no reason, so he’s trying to prepare himself for the worst, for dodging bullets and being threatened with restraining orders or the police. Or maybe Niall won’t even be home, or won’t answer, and Louis knows that he’s going to have to be okay with it, but he’s not sure he’s willing to give up that easily. He’s not sure he <em>can</em>. </p>
<p>Still. He doesn’t expect it to be easy, and he doesn’t expect Niall to just make room for him, so he’s made arrangements in another B&amp;B, just so he’ll have a place to stay for the night. He’s hopeful though, some of Harry’s optimism rubbing off on him, or maybe it’s not optimism as much as it is sheer determination. Louis has always been stubborn, and in this case he intends to make good use out of it.</p>
<p>It doesn’t mean he’s not nervous, because by the time he’s switched into his hiking boots and has started the trek to Niall’s cabin he can feel the nausea in his stomach, can feel the tightness in his jaw and the way his knees are buckling ever so slightly. <em>It has to work out</em>, he tells himself with every step. <em>It will work out. </em></p>
<p>He’s got no other choice. No other leads. He <em>needs</em> Niall, and though he has no idea how he’s going to convince him of that, he knows he can’t give up. </p>
<p>The half hour trek is more like an hour, because Louis gets lost twice and the reception on his phone is bad enough that Google Maps is not very helpful - and he can’t help but wonder how on earth Niall is getting his mail, or how he writes his articles when he’s in the middle of fucking nowhere. He wonders <em>why</em> Niall is in the middle of nowhere, because Louis likes the countryside but he’s not one for complete seclusion, and he just doesn’t get it.</p>
<p>He doesn’t get it until he stumbles upon a brunet man about his age, who looks at him for a moment and <em>freezes</em>, from his toes until the cat ears on top of his head.</p>
<p>Louis blinks. The cat ears twitch.</p>
<p>“Holy shit.” Louis says. </p>
<p>“You’re not human.” Louis says.</p>
<p>The ears twitch, flattening back against brown hair, and Louis wishes his brain to mouth filter would work, for <em>once</em> in his life. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>“Oh shit. Fuck. Sorry.” He holds up a hand, when the man takes a step back, looking more wary than aggressive, even if Louis doesn’t know enough if he’s interpreting the stance of his ears quite right. “Fuck. I didn’t - I wasn’t expecting - are you Niall Horan?” </p><p>The man - he’s not quite human but enough of a man for Louis to call him that in his head - frowns, eyes narrowing a little bit. “Who’s asking?” His accent is thick, and yet something in it gives Louis courage. Gives him hope, that he hasn’t fucked everything up completely. Yet. </p><p>“Sorry,” he says again. “I’m Louis. Tomlinson. I’ve read your articles, and I needed to talk to you.” He frowns now too. “I would’ve called, or emailed, or written a letter, but you’re a difficult man to get in touch with.” He glances at him, at the ears that seem to have a life of their own, moving independently even when Niall doesn’t betray anything. “I can see why.” He softens his voice. “I’m not - I won’t tell anyone.”</p><p>“No one would believe you if you did,” Niall says, but he still sounds wary, and Louis can’t exactly fault him for that. </p><p>“You’re right.” He nods, puts his bag down on the floor like maybe that’ll make him look a little less threatening. “I wouldn’t have believed it myself, a couple of weeks ago.” He glances around, as though he’s expecting people to listen in, or maybe a hidden camera, like this is all some stupid prank and he’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop. “I thought that Myths were just Myths. Stories. That I knew everything about real life, and what could happen and what couldn’t.”</p><p>Niall leans on the handle of his spade, keen blue eyes narrowing for a moment. “So you’re a believer then.” He says, so soft that Louis isn’t sure if it’s directed at him or merely muttered to himself. “Got your experiences, did you?” He doesn’t wait for Louis to nod. “So, you’ve read my articles, and you decided that you’d come here so I could tell you that you’ve not gone crazy, and that what you thought you saw was actually real, so you can go home and feel better about yourself?”</p><p>Louis takes a deep breath. “Not exactly.” He says quietly. “I mean. I <em>know</em> I’m not crazy. I know that what I’ve seen is real, because - well, I’ve lived with it for the past couple of weeks.”</p><p>“It?” Niall arches one eyebrow. One of his ears twitches, turning a bit more towards Louis. Louis doesn’t know enough about cats (or cat ears) to know if that’s a good sign or not.</p><p>“Him.” He swallows. “Harry. He’s uh- the sculpture I made.”</p><p>It’s interesting to see the expression on Niall’s face. The way it goes from blank, a muted interest, to something vivid and intrigued, to wary,  like he’s waiting for the punchline too. “Sculpture?” is all he says, but Louis can sense the intrigue behind it.</p><p>He nods. “I made a sculpture. My perfect man. And then he came to life. But he’s not human. And I want him to be human.”</p><p>Niall frowns again. “Why?” He asks, and as he speaks, he takes the spade out of the ground, starts heading towards the cabin that Louis can see a little while off in the distance. He stays frozen for a moment, before Niall turns towards him. “Well, are you coming? I don’t know about you, but it’s bloody freezing and these-” he points to the ears growing out of his head “are sensitive to the cold.” </p><p>Louis blinks, then grabs his bag, hurrying to catch up with Niall, his mind still not fully processing that he’s here, that Niall actually seems willing to talk to him, even though his body is moving and keeping pace. “I didn’t think you’d actually want to talk to me,” he confesses, hoisting his bag up on his shoulder and trailing just a few steps behind Niall. </p><p>“You come to my house, claiming that you’ve brought a sculpture to life. Might be the most interesting thing I’ve heard of in a decade, mate.” Niall tells him, waiting for him to catch up so they’re walking side by side. Louis isn’t sure if he’s being polite or if he just doesn’t trust people being where he can’t see them, but he’s not about to bring any of that up. </p><p>“A decade?” He says instead. “Aren’t you, like, my age?”</p><p>Niall cackles. “Hardly. You’re, what, twenty five?”</p><p>Louis arches an eyebrow. “And you’re not?”</p><p>Niall just gives him a look for a moment, before fishing for his keys, and Louis idly wonders why he’d lock up his cabin if it’s in the middle of nowhere, but he’s too preoccupied with Niall’s insinuation to really give it much thought. “How old are you then?” He asks, and Niall gives him another look.</p><p>“You do know that’s rude, right? To ask someone’s age?”</p><p>Louis blinks, but there’s the barest hint of a smile on Niall’s face and he gets the distinct impression that he’s fucking with him now. “I thought that was just women.” He says, opting for a small grin, that Niall returns. “And even then, I’m not exactly the best with women.”</p><p>“Surprising,” Niall comments dryly, opening the door and heading inside. “Shoes off, thanks. I just mopped the floor.”</p><p>There’s something strange about a man, who is not quite human, but who looks and talks like a human, living in the middle of nowhere, concerned with mopping his floors. Louis still takes off his shoes, wishing he’d taken more care to dress this morning, and that his big toe wasn’t peeking through a hole in his sock. He takes off his jacket too, tries not to glance around the cabin even though he’s terribly curious. </p><p>“Tea?” Niall disappears behind a wall, coming back with a kettle and two sturdy looking mugs. Louis nods, makes his way to a soft but worn old couch, sitting down only to find a spring digging slightly into his back. “I don’t get many visitors,” Niall tells him, when Louis subtly tries to shift away from the spring. He gestures to his surroundings. “Got everything I need though.”</p><p>“Do you like it?” Louis asks softly. “The solitude? Or is it because-” he doesn’t know how to be delicate, is the thing, but in hindsight, he probably could’ve found a better way to gesture to Niall’s cat ears than to put his own hands behind his ears and wiggle them around. </p><p>Niall doesn’t take offense though, just lets out another of those cackling laughs, pouring him tea and settling down into an equally old looking armchair. “Yes. And yes.” He shrugs. “It’s easier, I’ve found. Humans don’t know how to deal with anything that distorts their view of reality anymore. They’re either scared, or worse, intrigued. I’ve no interest in becoming an experiment.”</p><p>Louis wraps his hands around the mug, something solid, maybe tin or some stone. It’s nice, in his hands. Steady. He breathes in the different herbal notes that make up its scent, and although he doesn’t recognize any of them it still makes him feel a little more at ease. Like maybe he can do this. Maybe he can tell his entire story to a stranger and not have it blow up in his face.</p><p>Niall doesn’t say anything, and for a while they just sip their tea in silence. It’s quiet, in a way that it never is in Louis’ flat even when he’s alone, because there’s always life outside, but slowly, Louis starts to hear the life in the forest too. The birds, the sounds of hooves, a quick rustling of leaves. “It’s nice here,” he says eventually, when his mug is half empty and his stomach feels less in knots. “I can see why you’d like living here. It’s very peaceful.”</p><p>Niall hums, looking at him over the rim of his mug. “It is,” he says softly. “I miss people though. It used to be easier. To blend in. Back in the day when hats were a common thing, or when people believed in folklore. I used to be seen and people would treat me with respect. They’d still fear me, mind, but they wouldn’t mock me or try to lock me up.” He sounds wistful, and Louis can’t help but wonder exactly how old Niall is. He doubts he’d give him a straight answer if he asked again, so he doesn’t, just hums in acknowledgment of his words. </p><p>Niall pins him with a thoughtful look. “You’re not afraid of me though.”</p><p>Louis bites down on a smile. “No.” He says, then frowns. “Well, I don’t know. I don’t think I’d call it fear, but, hesitance?” He watches Niall, but his expression doesn’t change. “And even then,” he continues on, quickly, in case Niall is offended or hurt by his words, “it’s more about what you could do to Harry than to me.”</p><p>“Harry.” Niall puts down his mug. “He’s the sculpture, yes?”</p><p>Louis swallows, mirroring Niall’s movement and putting his own mug on the coffee table too. “Yeah. He’s - what you said, about not wanting to be an experiment, not wanting to be locked up. That’s what I’m scared of, for him. I’ve taken him outside a few times but I’m <em>terrified</em> every second of it, but I can’t just, like, keep him locked inside. That wouldn’t be fair either. He didn’t choose to come to life.” He swallows again. “I don’t know how to help him. And I know that coming here, that maybe I shouldn’t get my hopes up, but I read your article and it was the first thing that I’ve read that’s actually been useful, that’s actually said something that I thought - hey, this guy knows what he’s talking about. Maybe this guy can help.” He attempts a weak smile. “I’ve written you like a dozen letters, but I couldn’t put things into words the way I wanted to, and I thought, what if someone intercepts that letter? So I thought, maybe if I show up, and you’re willing to talk to me-”</p><p>Niall continues looking at him, his expression one of mild interest, and it should unnerve Louis, maybe, but it feels good to let it out. To share his story with someone who isn’t obligated to care for him, who will give him a straight answer even if it’s not the one he wants to hear. </p><p>“I want him to be human.” He whispers, looking down at his lap. “I want him to have a life. Right now, he’s alive because of me. Because I’m around him. And that’s not - it isn’t how it should be. He should be able to have his own life, however he’d like it to be.”</p><p>“Even if that is without you?”</p><p>Louis breathes out shakily. “Yes.” He whispers. There’s tears pressing against the back of his eyelids, but he knows that it’s true. Knows that even if part of him wants to keep Harry - not just keep him safe but keep him with him - he’ll never be truly happy if Harry isn’t. “I know you might not believe me, but-”</p><p>Niall smiles, something gentle and old. “I believe you.” He says softly. “You can’t lie to me.”</p><p>Louis glances up. “I can’t?” He is tempted to call Niall’s bluff, but something in his expression tells him that he’s not trying to sneak one by him. </p><p>Niall shrugs a shoulder. “Just because I’m intrigued by your story doesn’t mean that I’m naive. Maybe it’s not the nicest thing to do, slip a little herbal mix into your tea, but I’ve got to protect myself.” He gives him a small smirk. “Don’t worry. It wears off in a bit.”</p><p>Oh. “You drugged me?” Louis frowns, but if he’s honest with himself, he can’t really be mad about it. Not when he understands Niall’s reasoning. “I would’ve been honest either way,” he says. </p><p>“Maybe.” Niall says. “But sometimes we aren’t honest even when we think we are. Sometimes we’ve got ourselves convinced that we’re doing the right thing, or that we have good intentions, when deep down there’s other motives at play.” He gives him a gentle smile. “You know I have to ask-”</p><p>“Will I tell anyone what you are?” Louis guesses. “No.” He lets out a soft laugh. “I mean, I don’t even <em>know</em> what you are, first of, but even if I did, I wouldn’t tell. I just want to help Harry. And even if you can’t help him, I guess, in a way it’s sort of nice knowing that there’s people like you out there. That he’s not the only one of his kind, and that there’s still a place for him, even if he’d never be human.” Granted, it’s a place in the middle of nowhere, and Louis isn’t sure if that’s the kind of life Harry wants, any more than he’s convinced it’s the kind of life that Niall wants, but it’s still something. It’s still a relief, knowing that Harry might be okay in the end, regardless of what would end up happening.</p><p>Niall shifts, sitting back and crossing his legs over one another. Louis has the brief but distinct impression that he’s about to be psychoanalyzed. “So.” He says. “Harry. Tell me about him.”</p><p>➳➳➳</p><p>Niall’s refilled his tea - this time without any herbal mix, he promised him, or at least not one that compels the drinker to tell the truth - three times by the time Louis finishes talking. He’s also started a fire, made lunch, and started knitting, all the while not saying a single word. Louis didn’t think he’d have that much to say, but once he started the words just kept coming, his desperation and fear all laid out on the sturdy wooden table.</p><p>He feels exhausted now, this odd mix of terrified and relieved. He’s in need of a good cuddle, if he’s honest, but even though Niall has been nothing but nice, Louis doubts that he’s the type of person to hug a stranger. It makes him kind of sad, in a way, because Niall’s entire demeanor is so calming, he’d probably be an excellent hugger. He can’t help but wonder if Niall misses hugs too, if he misses human interaction. He also wonders if he could visit him more often, or if Niall is those once in a lifetime encounters.</p><p>“So,” he croaks out quietly. “Can you help?”</p><p>Niall looks at him pensively, continues knitting without even looking down at what he’s doing. “It’s complicated.” He tells him. “I’ve heard of stories like these, of course, but none in recent times. I’m sure you know many of the same stories. But there’s not exactly a solution in those. I’m sure that if it were as simple as pleading with your God, it’d be a done deal by now.”</p><p>Louis figures he’s right. He’s never literally pleaded to God, because he’s not sure he believes in one, but he’s certainly sent up enough heartfelt prayers to anyone who would listen. “Is that it then?” He whispers. “Is that all you know?”</p><p>“You’re not exactly a patient man, are you?” Niall snorts, drags a hand through his short hair, stroking the tip of his cat ears. Louis is suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he’s also got human ears, wonders what that means for how much Niall can hear. There’s a part of him that’s terribly curious as to what exactly Niall is, but he’ll save those questions for a time where he isn’t dependent on his help. “I need to think. Consult a few books. It’d be a big help if you could leave me alone for an hour or so.” He glances at him. “I’m not used to having people around, and you’re so <em>loud</em>, in everything that you do. I can’t think when you’re sitting there, practically vibrating out of your seat.” </p><p>There’s something funny about the way Niall talks. He’s not holding back, doesn’t seem the slightest bit concerned about whether or not he’s offending Louis, but at the same time Louis doesn’t think he’s consciously trying to offend him. He’s just honest, and Louis has always appreciated honest people. </p><p>So he nods, gets to his feet. “Alright. I guess I’ll wander around for a bit.”</p><p>“Don’t go too far. There’s bears in these woods.” Niall says, and Louis stops on his way to the door, turns around with his shoes in his hand. “Nah, I’m just fucking with you. There’s no bears in Ireland. There’s just old Tom Bombadil.”</p><p>Louis frowns. “Isn’t he from Lord of the Rings?”</p><p>Niall arches an eyebrow. “Where do you think Tolkien got the idea from?”</p><p>Louis is 99% sure that Niall is still fucking with him, but then, he can’t be completely sure, not when Niall is part of a world that Louis had been oblivious to for practically his entire life. Who knows, just how many stories were written because people had actually seen a bit of the other side? Maybe all the stories Louis had grown up with were true, and plausible deniability was enough to keep everyone safe. </p><p>He doesn’t say anything, just laces up his hiking boots and shrugs on his jacket, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he heads outside. It’s cold, the wind nipping at his nose, but there’s something freeing about being here, about the fresh air making its way into his lungs. He feels like he can breathe again, like every breath he takes steals some of the worry from his body. </p><p>He didn’t have much of a signal on his phone before, but for some reason that’s not an issue now, and Louis can’t help but wonder if this is Niall’s doing. If it is, he thinks it might be a good sign. </p><p>Heading far enough away from the cabin that Niall will hopefully not be bothered by him, he gives into impulse, calling Harry even though he said he’d call once he had more news. He’s not sure how much he really has to tell him yet, because he doesn’t know if Niall won’t send him away with more questions than answers, but he’s still a bit tender, in need of a hug, and talking to Harry is the best alternative right now.</p><p>Instead of Harry answering the phone, however, it’s Liam, and Louis feels an immediate spike of panic clawing up his throat. “Liam?” He tries not cringe at his own shaky voice. “What’s wrong? Is Harry okay?”</p><p>There’s a gentle chuckle that does little to calm Louis’ frayed nerves, his fingers tightening around a random rock he’d picked up a little ways back, because the swirly pattern had caught his eye and he’d had nonsensical thoughts of Harry and pebbles and penguins. “Hi Lou,” Liam says, and Louis tries his hardest to read into his voice but it’s deceptively even, something he usually appreciates but that right now just makes him want to scream. “Harry’s fine. We just came round for a visit.”</p><p>Louis sinks down onto a fallen tree branch, not even caring when his ass gets wet in a matter of seconds. “His idea or yours?”</p><p>“His.” Liam is moving around, and Louis wants to tell him to put Harry on, strains his ears to find out if he can hear him in the background. “He’s a bit lonely without you. Called us up this morning, asked if we’d like to come over for some tea.”</p><p>There’s two emotions warring for dominance in Louis’ body. The first is guilt, for leaving Harry alone, for ever making him feel lonely. The second is pure happiness, when he can hear Harry’s tinny voice, <em>is that Louis? Let me talk to him</em>, that’s quickly followed by a louder, and yet somehow softer “Hi!” when Harry’s clearly wrestled the phone away from Liam. </p><p>“Hi love,” he can’t help but smile at the forest ground, at the leaves that crunch under his boots, and the branches that snap whenever he moves around. “Li says you were feeling lonely?”</p><p>Harry hums. “Just a bit,” he says, but it’s clear he’s downplaying it, and Louis thinks Harry knows that he doesn’t believe him, that he knows it’s been far more than a bit because Louis knows just how Harry feels. “Are you doing okay?”</p><p>“I think so.” Louis glances at the cabin, thinks he might be far enough away that Niall can’t hear him. “Niall let me in, so that’s a good start. He seems nice.”</p><p>“Did he believe you?”</p><p>He smiles again, at Harry’s worry. “Yeah, he did. I can’t tell you why, but, he knows that these kinds of things happen.” He thinks Niall might be okay with him telling Harry but he doesn’t want to risk it, not until he’s asked Niall’s permission, at least. “I’ve told him everything I know. All the things we’ve tried. He’s kind of kicked me out for a bit so he can have a think, so, that’s good, I guess. Means that he might be able to help.” If he’d known straightaway that there was nothing he could tell him, Louis would already be on his way home. “Depending on what he says, I might make it home tomorrow.” He bites his lip. “Are you okay? Still moving around alright?”</p><p>“Yeah.” He can hear Harry’s smile, and it makes his heart flutter a bit. “I mean, I didn’t really want to get up this morning, but that wasn’t because I couldn’t. It was more, y’know. Like I said yesterday. Flat’s kind of lonely without you. At least I got to see you yesterday before you left. The idea of having an entire day without you, I didn’t really know how I’d get through all those hours.” He pauses. “I mean, I have things I can do, I guess. It’s not like I <em>need</em> you to be here. I’m not just sitting around, trying to kill time. I have a life.” He sounds sort of defensive, and Louis frowns.</p><p>“Love,” he says softly. “It’s okay.”</p><p>Harry hums. “Is it though? I feel like it shouldn’t be. I feel like I should be alright without you, that my life shouldn’t consist of waiting for you to come back.”</p><p>“You’re right.” It’s quiet. “It shouldn’t. But it’s a work in progress, right? Just because you’re not where you want to be yet doesn’t mean that you won’t get there.”</p><p>“I guess.” Harry sighs. “I still want you to come back soon. Is that okay?”</p><p>Louis swallows down a laugh, something that’s far too giddy for this moment, for the conversation they’re having. “Of course that’s okay. I want to come back soon too, you know that right? I love seeing you. This whole trip, I’m not doing it to get rid of you. Honestly, the first thing I thought, when I’d told Niall everything, was, I wish H was here so I could have a hug.”</p><p>Harry is quiet for a moment. “What if he doesn’t know how to help?” He whispers, and Louis knows that it’s a genuine fear, knows that he’s been thinking the same thing, but he can’t help but wish that Harry wouldn’t have asked. That he’d be allowed to hold onto hope, to the lightness that talking to him always brought out in him. But at the same time he doesn’t want Harry to be alone with his fears, even if Liam and Zayn are there to help him through it.</p><p>“I think he can,” Louis says, more confident than he feels. He knows it’s not the right answer, knows that it’ll just make Harry feel dismissed, so he swallows, continues in a softer voice. “If not directly,  then I’m sure he’ll be able to send us to someone who can. He seems- I don’t know, I can’t really explain it, but I trust him.”</p><p>“That’s good.” It’s not Harry who speaks, but Niall, who is suddenly in front of him, and Louis nearly falls off the tree branch because he knows he has a tendency to get caught up in Harry but he didn’t think he’d been so focused on him that he wouldn’t have heard someone approaching. But maybe Niall’s magic extends beyond his cat ears, and he can sneak up on people and scare them whenever he wants. From the small smirk on Niall’s face it’s clear that it might be something he’d enjoy. </p><p>“Fucking hell.” Louis still says, because he can’t exactly glare at the man who might be able to help them, but he does sort of need him to know just how close he came to giving him a heart attack. “H, I’ll call you later, alright? Niall just about made me shit myself by sneaking up on me.” </p><p>Niall’s cackle is loud enough that Harry must be able to hear it over the phone, and the pause from Harry’s side is so pregnant with worry that Louis has to suppress a smile. “It’s alright love,” he reassures him. “I’m okay. And things will be okay. I promise.”</p><p>Niall arches an eyebrow at him at that but doesn’t say anything as Louis pockets his phone and gets to his feet, finding that his pants are clinging to his backside. “That’s a big promise to make,” he notes calmly, once Louis has sort of made himself decent again. “You realize that.”</p><p>Louis nods. “I know.” He exhales. “I just - what else can I say? The truth? That maybe we’ll never figure it out and he might be stuck like this forever?” He shakes his head, following Niall back to his cabin. “He deserves better than that.” </p><p>It’s not as though they hadn’t talked about it. Harry had even told him that it’d be okay, if they would never figure it out, but the thing is, Louis knows he doesn’t really mean that. Knows that it’d still hurt him, and he can’t help but take responsibility for that, even when Harry says he wouldn’t blame him. It’s one thing to promise that when there is still every chance of fixing things, it’d be quite another to have to live through the devastation of never getting what you want. He wouldn’t blame Harry for resenting him in that scenario, even if he knows Harry would try his hardest never to let it show. </p><p>He takes off his shoes again, wonders for a moment if he should dry his pants before sitting down, but Niall seems completely unbothered, just gestures towards the couch. “I suppose,” Niall says, taking his own place back in the armchair. “Hope can be a good thing, I’m not denying that. And there’s certainly enough magic in the world that we can never be sure there won’t be a solution, but there’s a fine line between giving someone hope and lying to them to spare their feelings.”</p><p>Louis glances at his hands. He knows that Niall is right, but it doesn’t make hearing it any easier. “I try,” he says softly, chastised even though he thinks that wasn’t Niall’s intention. “I try to be as honest as I can be. But at the same time, I feel like, I <em>should </em>be able to fix this. I should be able to - if I caused this somehow, then, it’s my responsibility to make it alright.”</p><p>He can feel the weight of Niall’s gaze on him, doesn’t look up even though a part of him wants to, needs to know what Niall’s thinking. He doesn’t know him well enough to tell though, thinks that Niall might be able to hide whatever he wants to. Not that Louis can blame him. It must be hard, not being human, not knowing who you could trust. “I got that feeling,” Niall says calmly. “You’re that type. The one that carries the weight of the world on his shoulders.” He snorts. “And you don’t even see it as a punishment. You do it willingly. Because you feel that if you don’t, no one else will. You’ve got a problem with control, did anyone ever tell you that?”</p><p>Louis frowns at that, wants to ask Niall how any of this is relevant, how any of this is supposed to help, but he bites his tongue, gives the question an honest thought. “Maybe.” He says eventually. “I mean, I grew up helping out my mum, with the kids. I guess I’ve always felt responsible.”</p><p>Niall makes a dismissive gesture. “Responsibility is not the same as control. Thinking you’re responsible for something is not the same thing as wanting to control the situation, needing to prevent things from happening. It’s an interesting situation you’ve got yourself in. You’d think that creating your perfect man, getting to control who he is and <em>how</em> he is, that it’d be something you’d want. Something you’d been longing for, however unconsciously.”</p><p>“But that isn’t real,” Louis counters quietly. “Love isn’t - love’s supposed to be given. Not demanded. Love doesn’t exist in the absence of freedom.”</p><p>“Quite.” Niall pours them both more tea, cradles the mug in his hands. “I’m glad you’ve realized that, at least. As for the rest - if this doesn’t work out, and Harry will never be human, that’s not your fault.” It’s like he can tell that Louis is about to protest, because he gives him one of those looks, and Louis finds himself deflating, shifting to lean back a bit more against the backrest of the couch. “You might be responsible for his existence, but that doesn’t make you responsible for everything that happens afterwards. I think that it’s important that you know that.”</p><p>Louis is reminded of his nightmare. Of Harry literally falling apart in front of him. It’s something he never wants to live through. It’s something that <em>has</em> to be in his power to prevent, because how can this not be his fault? How can he not be responsible for everything that has happened to Harry? It doesn’t matter, whether Harry tells him he won’t blame him. Not when Louis will still blame himself. Niall’s words, gentle as they are, feel pointed, like he knows exactly what’s going on in Louis’ head, and Louis thinks that he probably <em>should</em> listen to him, but how can he? “How is knowing that going to help?” He whispers.</p><p>Niall lets out a soft sigh. “It won’t.” He says, pausing. “And it will.” He looks like he has to force back a chuckle at Louis’ expression, manages to just smile at him instead. “Will it help Harry? No, not directly. But I’d like to think it will help you. This isn’t just Harry’s journey. It’s yours too. You’re learning who you are and what you want just as much as Harry is. It’s important to keep that in mind. It’s important that by the end of this journey, you’re both who and where you’re supposed to be.” He gestures, towards the books that are stacked everywhere haphazardly. “If there’s one thing to take away from all these stories, it’s that. Your transformation is just as important as Harry’s, and it can only happen if you’re willing to let go of your preconceptions.”</p><p>Louis frowns. He’s not sure what exactly Niall is getting at, though he knows he’d be naive to forget about his warning, if that’s what this is. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he tells him, even when he knows Niall can tell he’s preoccupied for the moment, still too focused on the goal. “But, can you help Harry? Directly?”</p><p>Niall chuckles again. “I forget sometimes, how impatient humans are.” He shakes his head, cat ears twitching. “Understandable, I suppose, with how limited your time is. Still, you’re always looking for the quick fix.” He reaches for a piece of paper, scribbles something down on it. “I have theories, but since we’re not exactly sure how Harry came to life - aside from what the catalyst is, of course, which is when you kissed him -” he says it casually, but Louis still finds himself blushing, wanting to avert his eyes and shame himself simply because Niall <em>isn’t</em>. “There’s this warlock I know. He lives in Paris. He’ll be able to figure out whether or not you used magic to bring Harry to life.”</p><p>Louis can’t help but frown at that. “I’m not magical.” He says, because he’s twenty six and he’s never performed magic in his life, that he knows of at least. And he thinks he should know, because he’d spent his formative years daydreaming about Hogwarts and examining himself for any sign of magical ability that might mean he’d get a letter on his eleventh birthday. </p><p>“Not that we know of.” Niall says dryly. “Maybe you’re not. But I can’t rule it out. Sometimes it’s faint, something latent. Something that needs a certain situation to bring it out. Sometimes people only do magic in very specific circumstances. I don’t know enough about magic to tell, but Shawn is.”</p><p>“The warlock is named Shawn?” Somehow, that makes Louis want to laugh. He bites his lip, to keep from giggling, but Niall merely looks amused.</p><p>“It’s the name he goes by these days,” he acknowledges. “Not that he’s that old. Only a couple of hundred years or so. He likes to stay current though. Changes his name, his look, where he lives, every couple of decades. Paris has been his homebase for the past twenty years or so. I asked him once when he’d come back, but he never gives a straight answer.” </p><p>Louis watches him as he talks, the fondness on his face. He wonders if it’s something born out of kinship, out of knowing that there were others out there who didn’t quite fit into the world the way other people did. Or if it’s something more, because there’s not just fondness in Niall’s expression, there’s so much more. Devotion. Love. Loss. He thinks maybe he should take Niall’s words to heart, because clearly Niall’s got a lot of life experience on him. He wonders if that makes living any easier. </p><p>“So you want me to go and see him?” He asks, and Niall’s eyes lose that faraway look, become just a tad too focused on him, as though he needs a moment to bring himself back to the present. “Shawn.. You think he can help?”</p><p>“If this is caused by magic, yes.” Niall tells him. “He should be able to rule it out, if it isn’t. And if it is, I’d say he’d know best how to go from here. If there’s magic inside of you, he’ll be able to teach you how to harness it, use it to make Harry human.”</p><p>Louis thinks he should probably not ask him what will happen if Shawn can’t help. If this isn’t the solution, and he has only succeeded in losing a little bit more hope. “And if he can’t?”</p><p>He thinks Niall might understand his question, might forgive him for asking. His eyes soften a bit, and he looks almost sympathetic, though Louis has the impression that it’s straddling the line between sympathy and pity. “He knows people. I know I said it’s important not to lie to Harry, but I understand not wanting to give up hope.”</p><p>“Would you tell me? If what I was chasing is impossible? If I should give up and accept that, you know, it is what it is?”</p><p>Niall arches an eyebrow. “Would you listen to me?”</p><p>Louis colours a little. “Probably not.” He admits. “I’d want to, but, I wouldn’t want to. I don’t know if I’ll ever give up, to be honest.”</p><p>Niall nods at that. “Your resilience, the determination and stubbornness that you have, they can serve you well. But your biggest weakness lies in those strengths too.” He leans forward a little bit. “I won’t tell you to give up. But I will tell you, be aware of the cost of your pursuit. Don’t forget to live, while you’re figuring this out. In the end, Harry doesn’t necessarily need to be human to live a fulfilling life. Keep that in mind.” He sits back, watching Louis. “But I have a feeling that right now you’re not ready to hear that truth. Nor is he.” He smiles gently. “And I hope for both your sakes that you won’t need to heed that warning. I hope that things will work out.”</p><p>Louis chews on his lip. “Is that what happened with you?” He asks quietly, aware that he’s possibly crossing a boundary but finding himself unable to understand Niall’s warnings even if he thinks that on some level Niall gets him more than anyone does. “Did you lose what made life worth living, in the pursuit of - whatever you were trying to figure out?”</p><p>It’s not the only question that he has left, but he finds his head is so full with information that it’s hard to fully make sense of anything. There’s a feeling of frustration, of thinking that he had expected more, but there’s also a sense of being seen, of profound understanding. He thinks he might need a couple of days to let all of Niall’s words sink in, not just the instruction to go to Paris to see a warlock. He thinks maybe, in some way, that might be the least important thing he’s said all day, but right now, it’s all fuzzy in his brain, and he wishes he could be home with Harry, sharing the couch and basking in the last of the afternoon light. Maybe that’s what Niall meant. Maybe those things are what make life important.</p><p>He doesn’t really expect Niall to answer, knows that he’s more than within his right to tell him to fuck off, but the expression on Niall’s face never changes, never betrays more than he’s willing to share. “Tell Shawn I said hello,” he says quietly, and Louis doesn’t fully realize how that’s an answer until he’s already left the cabin.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s late by the time he’s made his way back to Dublin, late enough that his eyes are dry and he has trouble focusing, late enough that he stumbles up the stairs to his room for the night, doesn’t have energy to do more than set an alarm and kick off his shoes.</p>
<p>He wakes up to his phone buzzing on the nightstand, to complete darkness except for a bright red alarm clock that signals it’s 3:17AM. His movements feel sluggish as he reaches for the phone, the device buzzing incessantly against his palm while he wills his eyes to focus enough to read the number on the display. </p>
<p>It’s Harry. Of course it’s Harry, and Louis suddenly feels wide awake, shooting to sit up in bed and cursing himself for neglecting to call before he’d fallen asleep. He’d promised him, but he’d put it off, needing time for the thoughts in his head to settle, too busy driving and making his way back home to contemplate the feelings of the boy he was returning to. </p>
<p>He feels like shit about it, but that doesn’t make it any better. </p>
<p>He rubs at his face, stifles a yawn. “Harry?”</p>
<p>There’s a soft exhale, something shaky and filled with so much emotion that Louis can just draw him out with his eyes closed. “You didn’t call,” Harry whispers, and Louis feels his heart ache. </p>
<p>“Shit. I’m sorry, love,” he tries to keep his voice down, not wanting to wake anyone else. “I planned to call when I got to the B&amp;B, but by the time I got to my room, I was so tired I barely remembered to take off my shoes before I got into bed.” He shifts a bit, pulling the blankets up around him, smothering a yawn against the back of his hand.  </p>
<p>“You forgot about me?” There’s something in Harry’s voice, in those words, that makes Louis want to kick himself, and he finds himself shaking his head even though he knows Harry won’t be able to see it.</p>
<p>“Never.” He tells him, emphasizing the word. “Listen to me. I’d never forget about you. I was just - it’s been a lot, today. I wanted to share it all with you, but by the time I got here-” He cuts himself off, knows that he’s just going to repeat himself, that it’s likely not going to make things any better. “I meant to call, I promise.”</p>
<p>Harry’s quiet on the other end of the line, and Louis wishes he could see him, wishes he could hold him and reassure him, tell him how impossible it was to forget about him. “Hey,” Louis says softly. “Talk to me?”</p>
<p>“It’s late,” Harry says instead, and Louis frowns.</p>
<p>“I’m up.” He rubs at his face again, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. It’s like they’re on the edge of a fight, inching closer with every unsaid word even though he’s fairly sure neither of them want to enter the battlefield. “Let me video call you, is that okay?”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>Louis pinches the bridge of his nose. “Because I missed you, and because you’re upset, and I need you to see me. I need to see you, because something’s going on and I can’t fix it if you don’t let me in.” He whispers. </p>
<p>Harry sighs, and Louis finds himself holding his breath, at least until Harry’s hitches. “Fine. Okay.” He relents, and Louis feels like all the oxygen that had been sucked from the room is returning again, almost making him feel dizzy. </p>
<p>“Okay.” He echoes, shifting to turn on the lamp at the bedside table, something that gives off far too much light for the middle of the night, but Louis doesn’t care, even when his eyes are protesting the sudden brightness. “Give me a second, okay. I’ll call you.”</p>
<p>Harry doesn’t say anything to that, and Louis has the sudden sinking feeling that if he hangs up now, Harry might not accept the incoming video call. He hesitates for a second, but then gives in, disconnecting their call and quickly pulling up the program to video call Harry instead. </p>
<p>(Thank God he’d had a spare phone lying around his apartment. It’d been old, but it still worked, and Louis is so grateful for thinking to give it to Harry now. It’s been years since he’s had a landline, and there’s no way he’d go without talking to Harry for a few days, especially when not calling him once was enough to upset the balance between them.)</p>
<p>He’s holding his breath again, while the phone rings and Louis watches himself on the screen, waiting for Harry to pick up. Time seems to slow down, every second drawn out until the moment his screen changes, reveals Harry, who looks adorably sleepy even when he’s frowning. Time speeds back up then, sounds from outside filtering back in through the haze in his head. Louis can’t keep a smile from forming on his face at seeing him, even if that only serves to deepen Harry’s frown.</p>
<p>“Hi love,” he tells him, resisting the urge to trace the outline of his face with his fingertip. “It’s good to see you.”</p>
<p>He can tell that Harry’s trying to scowl, but that he’s failing, can see the relief on his face at seeing him in one piece. It gives him hope that he can grab him and tug him away from the battlefield, rather than be forced into the midst of it. “Hi.” Harry says, and it’s curt but he’s sounding a little less mad.</p>
<p>“I’m glad you picked up.” Louis whispers. “I was worried you wouldn’t for a moment.” He bites on his lip. “What’s got you upset, love? Is it that I forgot to call or is there something else that’s on your mind?”</p>
<p>Harry lets out a sigh, and Louis watches as he makes himself a bit more comfortable. In Louis’ bed. The thought warms his heart. “No. Yes. I don’t know. I was worried. I thought - you said you’d call and then you didn’t, and I thought, what if something had happened. And I wouldn’t know, because I couldn’t reach you, and no one would tell me, because no one knows that I exist. And you’d just be gone, and I-” he makes a face, looks away from the camera, but Louis can still see the fear and hurt etched onto his face. “I don’t know how to exist without you yet. And I hate that. I feel like I’m letting you down, because I said I’d live for myself, and I want to be able to, but these two days, it’s been hard.” He whispers. “I’m trying. You know I’m trying, right?”</p>
<p>Louis swallows. “Here I am, worried about letting you down, and you’re thinking the exact same thing about yourself.” He notes softly. “We should really learn a thing or two about that. Listen to ourselves, when we’re telling each other that it’s okay.” He’s no stranger to hypocrisy, apparently, because it’s so easy to tell Harry to give it time, that he knows he’s trying, and yet he fails to believe it when the words are directed at him. “I’m so sorry I didn’t call, Haz.”</p>
<p>“I know.” Harry looks at him, still reluctantly, but it’s progress. “I don’t - it’s okay, if you don’t. If you can’t. It’s just that when you said you forgot about me-”</p>
<p>“I didn’t forget about you.” </p>
<p>“No, but. You did. And that’s, you had a good reason, but it made me feel, I don’t know. Like, you have the luxury, to forget about me. You could, if you wanted to. You could choose to never come back, and you’d be alright.” He’s looking at him now, eyes pleading, as though he needs Louis to listen, to really understand his fear. “You might feel like shit about it, but you’d be okay. You don’t need me the way that I need you and it’s not fair. And I know that you didn’t choose for it to be this way, but, it reminded me. Of how terrifying it is, to be alone. Of how you could choose to stop caring about me and-” he swallows. “It makes me want to do whatever I can, to stop that from happening. But that’s not who you want me to be. That’s not who <em>I </em>want me to be, but it’s scary, and I was worried, and everything just became this big <em>thing</em>.”</p>
<p>Louis isn’t quite sure how he’s going to respond, wants to have the right words but he isn’t sure that he does. “I wish I was there with you,” he says quietly. “I wish I could hug you because you look like you need a hug right now, and if I’m honest, I kind of do too.” He gives him a watery smile. “Harry, I - we’re going to need to talk about this, when I come home, okay? Because-” he snorts. “Niall said, he basically said I’m the type of person to take responsibility for things that aren’t within my control. And he’s not wrong. Hearing you say those things, I want to apologize for it, for ever making you feel that way, and that’s - I mean I can, if you need me to, but, we’re going to need to figure out if we can make it so that you don’t feel that way anymore. Because, love, I can’t just choose not to care for you. That’s, you don’t need to be afraid of that. You’re never going to need to be afraid of that. And not because I made you or because I poured all those emotions into you. Not because I feel responsible or guilty. But because you’re you. Because you’re in my bed and you look so lovely, even when you’re mad at me, and I-” he pauses, exhales. “I care about you. Remember what I said? We’re family now. You and me.”</p>
<p>Harry pouts for a moment, but his expression soon fades into a smile that looks relieved and a little more settled. It’s small, but it’s there, and while Louis isn’t happy that Harry needs to hear those things he understands that they need to be said sometimes. “And Bethany.” Harry reminds him softly. </p>
<p>Louis smiles back at him. “And Bethany.”</p>
<p>“I let her poop in your bed.” Harry confesses, and it’s such an unexpected thing to say that Louis can’t help but bark out a laugh, slapping a hand to his mouth to keep the shocked sound in even when it’s too late. “I was mad at you.” Harry continues, a small grin teasing at the corner of his lips in response to Louis’ laugh. As though he realizes just how silly it is. “You told me to not let her in the bed because you didn’t want to come home to rabbit pellets all over your bed, and so when you didn’t call and I was so worried I took her into your room and I let her poop on your mattress.”</p>
<p>Louis can’t help but chuckle a bit. “Did it help?”</p>
<p>Harry makes a face. “For a little bit. Until I wanted to go to sleep and I realized that I sleep better in your bed, because it smells like you and if I close my eyes I can kind of convince myself that you’re here, and then I realized that I needed to change the bedding. But at first, it kind of helped.” He sounds sheepish. </p>
<p>“I’m glad then.” Louis murmurs, and Harry’s face scrunches up a bit, like maybe he’s about to call Louis’ bluff, but in the end he just smiles back at him. They sit like that for a moment, just looking at each other, and Louis can feel this warmth underneath his breastbone, this yearning to just be with him, tuck him under his chin and promise him the world. “I’m gonna be home tomorrow.”</p>
<p>Harry’s face scrunches a bit more, but it’s clear to see that he’s pleased. “Yeah?” He attempts to play it cool but Louis can tell, even through the grainy video, that there’s a brightness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.</p>
<p>“Yeah. Booked the ferry for eight, so I’ll be back in Holyhead at about eleven thirty. Just in time for the 11:48 train. I should be back at the station at about four in the afternoon, if everything goes well.” He’d hopefully be able to get some food here and there, but he’d preferred cutting it close to spending time on lunch when it meant he’d have to take a later train. “Do you want me to tell you everything that happened now, or when I’m home?” </p>
<p>Harry seems to debate that for a moment. “You should sleep,” he says reluctantly. “If you’re catching the ferry at eight, you should probably try to sleep for a couple more hours. I can wait.” </p>
<p>Louis feels another rush of fondness. “Are you sure? If it’s important to you, I can stay awake and talk to you.” </p>
<p>“No.” Harry sighs. “I mean, I’m not sure, but you should still sleep. I don’t want you to miss the ferry. I just want you <em>home</em>, Lou. I can - do you want me to call you tomorrow morning? To wake you up?”</p>
<p>Louis has set an alarm. He should let Harry sleep some more, not have to wake up at six thirty just so he could call him. “If you want.” He smiles a bit. “You don’t have to. But I can’t say it would suck to hear your voice first thing in the morning.” </p>
<p>Harry grins. “I will then. If only to wish you a safe trip.”</p>
<p>Louis finds himself grinning back. “I’d like that.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>The next morning is only <em>mildly </em>unbearable because Harry makes good on his promise to call. It sucks in every other regard, because it’s early, and Louis is exhausted, and oh, yeah, it’s raining out. It’s dark and dreary and Louis is soaked down to his underwear by the time he gets onto the ferry. The trip isn’t pleasant either, the wind making the waves rise up and beat against the boat, jostling him and making his stomach feel queasy. He hasn’t had breakfast but he’s glad for it now, doesn’t think he’d be able to keep it down.</p>
<p>His legs feel shaky when he makes it off the boat in Holyhead, and since the waves had been so rough the ferry has been delayed by a bit. Not too much, but just enough for Louis to have to hurry to catch his train. </p>
<p>It doesn’t matter though. No matter how terrible the day has started out, Louis still can’t stop himself from feeling like it’s going to be wonderful.</p>
<p>Because he gets to go home.</p>
<p>He gets to see Harry again.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>It’s well past five p.m. when he finally gets to his apartment, his body feeling so drained that climbing the stairs up to his front door seems an almost impossible task, but it’s the promise of seeing Harry that keeps him going, that has him smiling even when he drops his keys twice in his attempt to unlock the door.</p>
<p>In the end, none of it matters, because only half a second after he’s collected his keys to try and open the door a third time, it swings open. Louis barely manages to avoid getting hit in the face, let alone steady himself before he’s all but tackled and slammed against the corridor wall, Harry wrapping around him like some sort of clingy octopus.</p>
<p>Louis laughs, breathless, because having a man who was still more or less marble slam into you wasn’t very compatible with breathing, but he doesn’t <em>care</em> because he’s home and Harry is here. He wraps his arms around him, breathes him in, even though Harry doesn’t have a scent yet. </p>
<p>Well. He shouldn’t. But there’s something faint in Louis’ nose, something that might be his favorite hair mask, and he feels that warmth in his stomach again at the thought of Harry using his products as a means of being closer to him.</p>
<p>“Hi.” He manages, when he’s finally managed to suck some air into his lungs. “Happy?”</p>
<p>Harry tightens his arms around him to the point where it’s almost uncomfortable, nods, and Louis finds himself smiling into his hair, rubbing Harry’s back to soothe him. “Me too,” he whispers, shifting a bit to push himself off the wall. “C’mon. Let’s go inside.”</p>
<p>“Don’t wanna let go,” Harry murmurs, and Louis chuckles, pinches the soft bit at Harry’s waist. </p>
<p>“Alright, then don’t. But I’d like to get inside, and get out of these clothes, because I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m still pretty wet. That’s the weather for you though. Apparently Ireland is just as wet as the UK is.” He is babbling, knows he is but he doesn’t care, because he’s <em>home </em>and everything is right in the world.</p>
<p>Harry finally caves, lets him head inside, though he’s got Louis’ hand firmly in his own like he can’t bear to actually go without physical contact. Louis isn’t about to protest, not when he needs the contact just as much as Harry does.</p>
<p>He also needs a shower, but those two things are hardly possible at the same time, and if Harry needs a bit of reassurance, Louis will suffer through being in damp clothes for a bit longer. </p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>An hour later Louis finds himself on the couch, dressed in his most comfortable joggers and an old sweater. He’s got a nice cup of tea in his hands, a blanket around him, his favorite fluffy socks on, and Harry’s next to him, only half covered by the blanket. His toes are tucked under Louis’ thigh and he’s letting Bethany nibble on his hair where she’s pressed against his shoulder. </p>
<p>The exhaustion that had faded a bit at seeing Harry, and had then been pushed down while he was in the shower, has come back in full force, and Louis thinks that if it weren’t for the conversation that they were scheduled to have, he might fall asleep right here, feeling cozy and loved and safe in a way that he hadn’t realised he’d missed these past days. It’s like being with Harry wipes away all the bad things in Louis’ life - or in his head - and just leaves him feeling content and at peace. </p>
<p>Harry seems to know that he’s basking in the moment, because he doesn’t pry, doesn’t even seem to be in a hurry to get him to talk. It’s like he’s as happy for Louis to be home as Louis is; he just looks at him, while he pets Bethany, occasionally reaches out as though he wants to confirm that Louis is actually here with him. </p>
<p>Once Louis has finished his tea, and snuggled up further under the blanket, he lightly pokes his finger into Harry’s ankle. “Alright,” he says softly. “We can talk now, if you want.”</p>
<p>Harry purses his lips. “Are you sure? You look exhausted.”</p>
<p>Louis smiles a soft smile. “I am,” he says. “But I’ve made you wait long enough. You must be vibrating out of your skin with how badly you want to know.” </p>
<p>“Is it that obvious?” Harry whispers, and Louis shakes his head because no, it isn’t. Not at all. </p>
<p>He gives in to the silly desire to wrap his fingers around Harry’s ankle, brush against the skin there. It’s distracting him for a bit, until Harry wiggles his toes under Louis’ thigh. “So talk.” He reminds him, and Louis almost blushes, as though he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.</p>
<p>“Niall isn’t sure,” he starts, “but he thinks that I might’ve inadvertently done some magic.” He could tell him everything about the encounter with Niall - even though there’s a lot that Louis doesn’t know yet, like what exactly Niall <em>is</em> - but he thinks Harry might want to know the most important things first. “He said he’s not the right person to figure that out though, so he referred me to some warlock in Paris. He gave me his address, and his phone number, so I might try and call him tomorrow or so, see if we can schedule something.” He’d love it if Shawn could come to him, but he’s willing to make the trip to Paris if that’ll bring them any further. “If it’s really something I did, if I’m somehow something magical, then maybe Shawn can help me figure out how to channel my magic and make you human.”</p>
<p>Even talking about it is weird, because it’s <em>magic</em>, and normal people didn’t do magic, but then, normal people also didn’t somehow bring a marble sculpture to life, so Louis understands why Niall was reluctant to rule it out. “He said a bunch of other stuff, about journeys and how I’m not at fault for what’s happening, which, I know, is something you’ve said too, but, I don’t know. It’s something I’ve got to work on, I guess.” He admits, glancing at Harry and then down at his fingers. Even though they’re hidden by the blanket it still gives him something to focus on. “It was a lot. Seeing him. Good though, even if he couldn’t entirely help. He still gave us something to go on, so that’s good. And like, he’s not human, so, in a way, it’s a nice reassurance, that even if you’d never be human, that you’re not necessarily ending up alone?” He glances up at Harry again. “I mean, you’d never be alone in the first place, because, well, family and all that, but if you’d ever want to live with people who understand what it’s like to not fit into society, well, at least there’s others out there.”</p>
<p>Niall would probably love Harry. And Louis can see Harry living there. He’d probably do great, somewhere in the woods, where he could be in contact with nature. With animals. Seeing him with Bethany just makes it so clear, how easily Harry interacts with animals. He’d probably live out his best Cinderella life, getting birds to help him do his chores or something equally fantastical. </p>
<p>Louis doesn’t think he’d last long in a cabin in the woods, because he’s always been the type of person to need people around him. To need attention, even if it’s not nearly as much or as frequently as it’d been in the past. He still isn’t made to be alone, not for longer periods of time, at least not when he’s not caught up in his work. </p>
<p>He knows he should  be grateful that life hasn’t dealt him another fate, that he isn’t forced to seclude himself like Niall is. “Niall’s great.” He says, when Harry hasn’t really said anything. “He’s - there’s something so old about him, which I guess is sort of true, because he’s not human. He hasn’t told me his age but I think he’s been around a while. He’s kind and understanding, and I think you’d really like him. So that’s, there’s that. There’s people who understand, who will accept you for who you are, and that’s good.” He reaches out for Harry’s hand, gives it a soft squeeze. “I don’t want to think of what could happen to me, that would leave you alone, but it’s a relief, knowing that if something did happen, it wouldn’t just be Zayn and Liam who are there for you.” He can’t be entirely sure, because it’s not something they’ve talked about, but Louis thinks that Niall is probably willing to talk to Harry, if he needs it. </p>
<p>He shifts, rests his head against the back of the couch, his fingers playing with Harry’s. “So,” he says softly, “thoughts?”</p>
<p>“Lots.” Harry says, his voice quiet. He is looking at their hands, at the way they fold together, move together, in a dance that neither of them know the steps to but that’s somehow perfectly in sync. “You’re right. It is a lot. And I probably don’t even know the half of it.” He frowns. “I guess it’s good? I don’t know. I’m still kind of stuck on the whole magic part and you leaving me to go to Paris. Which, I know that you’re doing it for me, but, can I ask that you don’t hop on a train tomorrow evening?” He blushes a little bit, and Louis gives his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I know that he might be busy, and that it’s not really up to you, but, I’d like to keep you here for a bit, if that’s alright?”</p>
<p>“Of course it is.” Louis assures him. “I can always stay if you need me to. You just have to ask, yeah? I’ll always try and keep in mind what you’re ready for.” His fingers are itching to smooth out the frown on Harry’s forehead, but he settles for continuing to hold his hand instead. “Is this because you’re scared of the outcome, though?”</p>
<p>Harry’s frown deepens, then smooths out on its own. “A little,” he admits. “I mean, it sounds so good, right? Like, you go to Paris, and Shawn can help, and it’s <em>magic</em>, and then suddenly I’m human, but I just - what if it’s not that simple? What if you’re not magic and I’m not-” he swallows, purses his lips for a moment. “I know I keep coming back to that. And I know you’ve promised me -- and I also know that you can’t really promise me, and I’m trying to be okay with the not knowing but-”</p>
<p>Louis shrugs a shoulder. “You’re made from me. It kind of makes sense that you’re just as much a control freak as I am,” he says gently, and to his relief Harry smiles a bit at that. “I can’t change our destiny, no matter how much I want to. I’m not going to be able to do something that’s impossible. But then again, maybe I am, because everything about this is impossible. You being here, being alive. Me seeing Niall, someone who isn’t human, who’s been alive for maybe centuries? None of that is possible.” He smiles back at him. “But then again, I think Niall was right when he said it’s about the journey. To not forget about all those moments in between searching for answers, because that’s where life really happens. Being human doesn’t make you alive, Harry. It doesn’t make your life worth it. The things you do in between - the bunny and the dancing and the spa days. You figured that out before me, when you asked me if we could do those things.”</p>
<p>“I won’t go to Paris for a while if you don’t want me to. Because those things, they’re just as important, if not more so.” He squeezes his hand again, gives him a sheepish grin. “That being said, of course I’m not going to give up, and I’m still about the most stubborn person you’ll ever meet, probably, so I’m also still going to want to fix everything for you, but not <em>just </em>because I feel responsible. Also because you deserve to live the life you want, exactly how you want it.”</p>
<p>Harry snorts, but there’s something cloudy in his eyes, something that Louis doesn’t recognize until it happens - one perfectly shaped tear rolling down his cheek.</p>
<p>One perfectly shaped <em>wet</em> tear, that clings to Harry’s chin before it wobbles and falls, dissolving into Bethany’s fur. The bunny gives a little sniff to Harry’s shirt, then hops, settling herself higher up on his shoulder, where there’s no chance of getting her fur wet.</p>
<p>Louis stares at Harry.</p>
<p>Harry stares at Louis.</p>
<p>“Was that-” Louis finds himself whispering, his lungs achingly empty, as though time has stopped and his body has stopped functioning. His entire being only focusing on what just happened and how impossible that is.</p>
<p>Harry shakes his head, frowns, wiping absently at his cheek. “It can’t be.” He says. </p>
<p>Louis frowns too. He’s right, it can’t be, but somehow it <em>is</em>, unless his eyes have betrayed him. “Do it again.” He whispers, breathless.</p>
<p>Harry looks at him for a moment, taking in a shaky breath, before squeezing his eyes as though he can force tears to leak from them. He looks adorably focused for a minute, then sighs, his shoulders sagging a bit. “I can’t.” He says, and he sounds almost petulant at it. “I don’t feel all emotional anymore, like I did a minute ago. I just feel shocked now.” </p>
<p>Louis finds himself almost wanting to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, at the way Harry seems so annoyed that he can’t make himself cry on command. “I could say some more cheesy stuff, if you want,” he teases, and Harry scowls at him, gives him a gentle shove with his foot. “Oy. I mean it.” His face softens. “I meant everything, you know that right?”</p>
<p>Harry nods. “I know.” He says, sighing again. “It’s no use.” He frowns, then shakes his head, as though he’s trying to shake off his frustration.</p>
<p>“The moment’s over,” Louis agrees, but he can’t help but sound teasing, his fingers reaching out to tug at one of Harry’s curls. “You just fucking <em>cried</em>. What the fuck, Haz.” He finds himself in disbelief, wanting to reach out and press his fingers to his skin, wanting to search Bethany’s fur for that elusive drop. </p>
<p>“I did.” Harry still sounds a bit shocked, his fingers cool when he reaches out to brush them against Louis’. “What do you think that means?”</p>
<p>Honestly, Louis has no idea. He’s known for a while that it was pointless trying to guess just how human Harry was, that there were no set milestones that he could measure him against, because he might be newly human but he was not a child. He’d been able to read and write, perhaps because Louis had intended for him to, but he was also walking and talking, hadn’t had to learn either of those things. His skin had broken out once or twice before he’d gone to live with Zayn and Liam, and while it hadn’t since, Louis could tell he was looking more human every day.</p>
<p>This is new though. Up until now Harry had only shed marble tears, and while Louis didn’t pretend to understand how that worked - if he wasn’t human he shouldn’t have tear ducts, and being able to cry was such a human thing - he’d sort of accepted it as being normal for Harry. So having him sit here, an actual tear sliding down his cheek, it’s nothing short of mindblowing.</p>
<p>“Do you think it means I’m becoming human?” Harry whispers, and Louis looks up at him, at the hope in his eyes that he can’t hide no matter how much he’s trying to. “I mean - I know that it can’t be that simple, but, something changed, something has to have changed and I-” </p>
<p>Louis squeezes his hand. “I don’t know, love. Do you feel different?”</p>
<p>Harry frowns, glancing down his body as though he’s checking for differences. Louis tries his best to breathe through it, even though he still feels like he failed when Harry looks back up at him, giving him a small, sad looking smile. “No.” He says quietly. “At least, I don’t think so. I don’t - I mean I can’t tell, obviously, but I still feel the same.” He gently raps his knuckles against his forehead, his smile fading. “Still feels like marble in here.”</p>
<p>Louis can tell that he’s saddened by it, that the shock that could’ve made way for excitement has taken a firm detour into hopelessness, and he wishes he had the right words, wishes he would be able to soothe all Harry’s worries, but they both know that it’d be empty words when neither of them know what the future will hold. He’s about to do it anyway, when Bethany squirms, pressing her soft body against Harry’s neck and giving his earlobe a little nip. </p>
<p>“She can tell you’re upset,” Louis whispers softly, and Harry’s face betrays a bit of his struggle, of the sadness that’s trying to get pushed back by the wonder of having a pet that can tell when he’s not feeling his best. “You did a good job picking her, H.” It might be silly, but Louis is relieved that Harry has her, that he’s got someone to hold onto and cuddle the way that he might not always want Louis to do. Not that Harry has been reluctant to let him close, but Louis can still tell that it’s hard for him, that sometimes he thinks too hard on the consequences when all Louis wants to do is comfort him. He thinks sometimes it might be easier for Harry to be vulnerable with Bethany than it is with him, and though he’d never thought he’d be jealous of a bunny, he sort of understands. </p>
<p>It fills him with renewed relief that Harry had been so open with him on the phone. He wonders if it might have made it easier for him, since he hadn’t needed to look at Louis, didn’t have to be near him in case being wrapped up in a hug was too much when he felt like he’d combust at a single touch. </p>
<p>So Louis is careful now, just rests his hand on Harry’s knee. “Are you alright, love?”</p>
<p>The touch has Harry looking down at Louis’ hand, and Louis wonders for a moment if it’s too much, but Harry lets out a shaky breath and covers Louis’ hand with his own. His fingertips brush over Louis’ knuckles in a way that makes something ache inside of him, and suddenly Louis wants nothing more than to stay in this moment forever. Not exactly this moment though, but one similar to it, where everything goes unspoken and somehow they’re able to understand one another. “I guess,” he says softly. “I think it’s just - a lot has been happening. I kind of feel a little like a yo-yo. Up and down and up and down. It’s like when you left, I didn’t really have control over my feelings. I was scared and I wanted you to come back, and then I was mad at myself because I shouldn’t want that, and I was mad at you because you left, and then I felt guilty because I know that isn’t fair, I know that you left because of me, but it still - it was so much. I didn’t think I could feel that much, Lou, and now that you’re here, it’s like I have all this left over emotion and it just wants to come out and I don’t know how to let it.”</p>
<p>Louis gives his knee a squeeze. “I think I know the perfect solution.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>Harry is kind of glaring at him through his tears, when the credits of the movie roll, but Louis can tell that despite his wobbling bottom lip and tear stained cheeks - he’d actually ended up crying real tears again, but Louis isn’t sure Harry’s even been aware of that, he’d been too caught up in the movie - he isn’t actually angry with him. He just looks tired, like he’s exhausted all of his emotions, and Louis thinks he might be down for the count in a matter of minutes.</p>
<p>“Alright, love?” He checks with him, and Harry glares a little more, bottom lip jutting out into a pout, but then he sighs and gives a small nod. </p>
<p>“How’d you know?” He asks softly. </p>
<p>“That sometimes you just need to cry it out?” Louis gives him a soft smile. “Sometimes emotions get so overwhelming that they need an outlet. Usually it goes one of two ways. Either you get angry and you end up breaking something - and seeing as how you’re made of marble, I wanted to protect both the walls and your body, since I can’t exactly take you to a hospital - or you just need to put on the saddest movie that you can and let it out.” He gestures towards the TV, where the main menu has popped back up. “The first time I saw this movie, I ended up bawling, when I wasn’t even sad. Ever since then, it’s just sort of been my go to when I feel overwhelmed. It’s good to take the pressure off from time to time. A lot of the time it helps just to talk to someone, but sometimes you’re not ready to talk, or there’s just not really something to talk about, everything’s already been said. So then a sad movie is usually the way to go.” </p>
<p>“You didn’t cry.” Harry whispers, and Louis bites down on his bottom lip, hides his smile. </p>
<p>“I don’t think I was upset the way you were,” he says softly. “I’m not saying that there wasn’t a lot going on in my head, but, coming home solved a lot of them. Knowing that there’s something to do, some way to help, that usually helps me.” Even if it’s not the best coping mechanism, because it could go hand in hand with ignoring his own problems, leaving them brimming underneath the surface. “I guess it also helps that I’m used to all these emotions. I’ve learned to deal with them. Maybe not always in the best ways, but, I’ve had years of dealing with being overwhelmed.” He gives him a small, teasing smile. “It’s called being a teenager, usually. All these hormones - it’s a lot.” </p>
<p>“So you’re not worried?”</p>
<p>Louis bites at his lip. “No. I mean, I am. I just think it's harder for you. Because you could only sit here and wait for me to come back. Waiting for something is the worst kind of thing. Getting to go out there, talk to people, actually do something about it, that’s easier. So right now, I’m mostly worried about you, about how you’re coping. That’s what I was most worried of when I was gone, to be honest. Just hearing you so upset last night - I would’ve wanted to run all the way home, if I could. Just so I could be here a little earlier, just so you wouldn’t have to be alone anymore and I could tell you that it was all going to be okay.”</p>
<p>Harry gives him a sheepish smile. “I overreacted a bit, didn’t I?” He asks, and Louis shakes his head.</p>
<p>“No, I don’t think you did. This is all vital stuff, Harry. It’s your life we’re talking about. You’ve every right to be upset with me for not calling. Do I like that it got you so upset? No, but not because it’s wrong to be. More because I never meant to make you feel that way, and because I never thought you’d worry about me forgetting about you.” He can tell that Harry still feels a bit ashamed of telling him that, and it makes him reach out, brush a curl away from Harry’s forehead. “Like I said,” he whispers, “that’s literally impossible. You’re on my mind all the time.”</p>
<p>“Because we’re still trying to figure out what to do with me,” Harry whispers back, and Louis frowns for a moment. </p>
<p>“Yes,” he acknowledges. “That’s part of it. Of course. You’re, I don’t want to say my responsibility, because it’s far more than that, but, I am aware of how you need me, so of course I’m going to think of you. I don’t want to risk being away for too long and having that hurt you in any way. But also, outside of that, it’s been such a joy seeing you figure out who you are. You’re lovely, Harry. Seeing you dance around the living room, singing into a spatula, seeing you cuddle with Bethany and talking to the sculptures, being around you just makes me feel-” he shrugs a shoulder, gives him a sheepish smile. “Warm. Light. Happy.” </p>
<p>Harry swallows. “Me too.” He whispers back. “I mean. About you. Being around you makes me feel those things too, but then I worry that I shouldn’t. That it’s wrong to feel that way because I’m not sure if I feel it because you told me to or because you just make me feel safe.”</p>
<p>Louis can’t help it, brings him in for a small hug, careful of Bethany who is still perched on Harry’s shoulder. “You don’t have to feel a certain way about me. Okay? I don’t know if I’ve ever said that so clearly, but, in case it’s something your brain needs to hear - I’m okay with things being the way they are. Us being friends, that’s amazing, Harry. I’m so lucky, just to get to be your friend. Just to be in your life at all, seeing you develop as a person, seeing you happy - I’m okay, yeah? I promise.”</p>
<p>“You don’t want anything more from me?” It’s almost whispered in his ear, Harry still holding onto him, his hands gentle on his back, and Louis is glad for it, for the way that his face is hidden and Harry can’t tell the brief flash of pain that passes across it, because Harry sounds relieved to hear it.  </p>
<p>It’s still something that smarts. His perfect man choosing not to love him. But that’s not something Harry needs to deal with, on top of everything else he’s going through. And it’s not like Louis is in love with him. There’d been something there, at the start, before everything had gone to shit and he’d realized just how wrong he was for feeling that way, but things are different now. He’s got a different goal, something that is more important than how he might care about him. So while he can’t a hundred percent honestly say that the way he feels is solely platonic, he knows better than to even get near that bridge, let alone cross it. It’s something neither of them need, and Louis <em>is</em> happy with what he gets from Harry; it’s not a consolation prize, not something he has to settle for. </p>
<p>“Promise.” He tells him, squeezing him a bit tighter for a moment. “So no more worrying, okay? No more beating yourself up for how you feel. No more asking yourself if it’s enough or if it’s genuine. You feel how you feel, and that’s okay. And you’ve been doing so well, love. I know that, okay? I can see it. I can see that you’re making decisions for yourself, more and more every day. I can see that you’re feeling things and you’ve stopped looking at me to check if they’re alright. Your feelings are your own. Maybe not all the time, or always a hundred percent, but you’re getting there, I can tell. I don’t think you’re happy around me because you think I want you to be. I think you’re just happy, and I think, deep down, you know that too.”</p>
<p>He hopes Harry does, at least. Hopes that when he takes the time to examine his feelings, sit with them, that he knows that wanting to be around Louis is something that comes from himself. “Right?” He whispers, pulling back to look at him, because he thinks he knows but he still needs some reassuring, still needs to be told that Harry is actually happy.</p>
<p>Harry chews on his bottom lip, that adorable frown wrinkling his forehead again. “Yeah,” he says after a moment, soft, but then brighter. “Yeah. I am. <em>I’m </em>happy. And I was sad before, and that was me, because if I’d been thinking about what you wanted, then I wouldn’t have called, I wouldn’t have said anything, because it would’ve been inconvenient for you, because it was late and because you needed sleep and because I shouldn’t make you sad, but, I was sad and that was <em>me</em>.” He smiles, like it’s a relief, like he needed Louis to point out just how much of what he was feeling was genuine. “I’m me. My feelings are mine.”</p>
<p>Louis can’t help but smile at that. “Yes they are.”</p>
<p>Harry grins. “And I’m <em>exhausted</em>.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Somehow after being away from each other all this time - granted, it had just been a few days but still, it was longer than Harry had ever been away from him, at least, longer than he’d ever been <em>alone</em>, with no one to keep him company - it doesn’t feel right to retire for the night in their separate rooms. Not when Harry’s spent the last few nights in his bed anyway, and letting him sleep on the mattress on the floor in his studio just feels mean after that. </p>
<p>They don’t even discuss it. Harry simply follows him to his bedroom, and when Louis gives him a look, soft and inquiring, he just answers with a small shrug of his own. Everything else goes unsaid, and Louis finds himself smiling at the ceiling when they’re both in his bed, Harry’s weight making the mattress dip enough that he’s so aware of him being there, even when their bodies aren’t touching.</p>
<p>It’s nice. Sharing a bed with him. It’s nice not being alone, and it feels comfortable. Safe, like Harry had said he felt with him. It’s clear that he meant that, because he’s asleep within a matter of minutes, filling the room with gentle snores. Louis, despite his fatigue, can’t fall asleep right away, but it’s alright; he gets to hear Harry’s breathing, feel the weight of him next to him, and those sensations are like a warm, weighted blanket, soothing his soul. </p>
<p>He wakes up the next morning with his arm around Harry’s waist, his nose nestled in soft, curly hair. There’s a moment where he wonders if he should pull away, should put distance between them before Harry wakes up, but before he can do much more than breathe in his first morning breath, Harry’s fingers tangle through his where they’re resting against his stomach. “Morning,” he mumbles, his voice rough and laced with sleep, and Louis presses an instinctive smile against Harry’s hair.</p>
<p>“Morning, love.” He whispers. “Sleep well?” </p>
<p>“Mm.” Harry stretches, lets go of Louis’ hand to shift onto his other side, so he can look at him. He doesn’t bother to put much distance between them though, his ankle still resting comfortably over Louis’ calf. “I did. Out like a log. Slept like a baby - though that’s an odd phrasing, if you ask me, because from what I know about babies, they wake up and cry a lot.” He frowns, then smiles. “It was nice though. Having you here.” He looks away, as though he’s shy about meeting Louis’ gaze. “Letting me stay here was nice.”</p>
<p>Louis hums, brushing some of Harry’s hair from his forehead, just a gentle motion that’s meant to soothe him even when he’s not sure what about the situation needs soothing. It’s just an impulse, an instinct, to always make sure Harry’s alright. “You’re welcome,” he whispers, even though Harry hasn’t actually said thank you. “I liked it too. It’s nice, not being alone. It’s nice being held, or just being close. I used to cuddle with Zayn all the time, when we lived together. People always thought we were dating, because we’d hang off of one another, but it’s just - comfort. We should normalize hugs outside of relationships.” He yawns, resists the urge to roll his eyes at himself. “Sorry, I babble in the morning. Got even less of a brain to mouth filter than usual.”</p>
<p>Harry chuckles softly. “I could make you coffee if you want,” he whispers, and Louis contemplates that for a moment. There’s a lot to do, now that he’s back home, but yet he finds himself unwilling to actually get up and start the day. Not when everything he wants is right here, in his bed. </p>
<p>“In a bit,” he drags a hand through his own hair, not nearly as gently as he’d done with Harry’s, winces a bit when his finger snags on a tangle. “I’ve been thinking about your room,” he shifts a bit, to lay down on his back, looking back up at the ceiling rather than the lovely boy by his side. </p>
<p>“Your studio, you mean.”</p>
<p>Louis hums. “It’s not exactly homey, is it? If you want, we could decorate it. I’d say you could have the entire room, but, I don’t know where I’d put my sculptures or where I’d work on them, so maybe we’ll have to look into moving at some point, but, I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to make it a bit more your space, make you feel a bit more like you’ve got a place of your own?”</p>
<p>He chances a glance at Harry, finds him frowning for a moment. “Do you mean you’re expecting me to stay, after-” he cuts himself off, plays with a corner of the blanket. “Like, we could be roommates?”</p>
<p>Louis frowns too. He’s not sure what he’d meant, exactly. “I mean,” he starts, stops himself for a moment while he attempts to think it through, his head still a bit fuzzy from sleep. “Being roommates, having you continue to live here after, that wouldn’t suck. Turning human doesn’t mean you suddenly know everything there is to know about life, so, it’d make sense that you’d need some time to figure things out before you’d move out - and like, you can stay as long as you want, you know that, right? You’re not like, in the way, or anything.”</p>
<p>“I’d sort of be, if my room was your studio.” Harry points out mildly, and Louis makes a face at the ceiling.</p>
<p>“We’d figure something out.” It’s not like he <em>needs</em> all the space in his living room. He could adjust. “But I was thinking more about right now. You’ve been staying in my room while I’ve been gone, and I feel sort of bad about making you stay in the studio when you don’t even have a real bed. It just all feels so temporary, and I know that we’re still looking at a solution, I’m not saying that we should give up on that or anything, but, we should make sure that you’re comfortable in the meantime too. We could at least think about decorating it a little bit, so that you’ve got a space to yourself when you want.” He didn’t want Harry to just have to move around him, be in places that Louis wasn’t, whenever he needed time to himself. This was a place that had been his for long enough, he could share it, make room for Harry. </p>
<p>“Did you mind?” Harry asks quietly, and Louis looks at him again, unsure of what he’s referring to, but thankfully Harry continues. “Me staying here. Not just while you were gone, but, like, last night? I didn’t think about it. But you could’ve told me to go to my own bed if you wanted to be alone.” </p>
<p>Louis finds himself shaking his head before Harry’s even finished speaking. “No,” he says softly, stresses it by tapping Harry’s nose and giving his curls a little ruffle. “That wasn’t what I was getting at, love, I promise. I liked that you were staying with me. I just said that, remember?” He can understand though, that what he’d said afterwards would cause Harry to have doubts about his sincerity. “I just want you to feel at home. To feel like you have a place, and not like you’re in the way. Which you’re <em>not</em>, but, this is your home now too, okay? I want it to feel like that. And having just a mattress on the floor, in my studio, because that’s where there’s space - that’s not like this is your home.”</p>
<p>Harry’s frown has thankfully faded, and Louis can even see the start of a smile creeping onto his face. “I like the studio though. I like that I get to be with the other sculptures.” He makes a face. “I mean, it’ll be a lot better once <em>he</em> is out of there, but, I don’t mind that I’m sharing a room with them. And I like when you come in there and work, I like watching you work. It’s different now that you’re not working on me, it’s like I’m seeing it from a whole other perspective and that’s nice.” He shrugs a shoulder, lets go of the blanket he’d been fidgeting with. “But a bed might be nice. Maybe a little cabinet, for some of my stuff. I don’t have a lot, but, the stuff you’ve bought me, the penguin and the clothes I have and the nail polish, maybe it’d be nice to have a little shelf for them.” He spreads out his fingers, looks at the chipped polish on his nails. “It’s nice to have things that are <em>mine</em>. It’s kind of like, proof that I live?” He makes a face. “That’s probably dumb to say, but.”</p>
<p>“It’s not.” Louis assures him, taking Harry’s hand and inspecting his nails. “I get what you mean. Sort of. As much as I can get it, I suppose.” He brushes a fingertip over Harry’s nails. “These look atrocious, love. I could repaint them if you want.”</p>
<p>“Really?” Harry’s definitely smiling now, and Louis can’t help but smile back at him. “Is that what we’re doing today then?”</p>
<p>Louis shifts, stretching out his arms, a satisfied groan escaping his lips when his back pops. “I was under strict orders to stay home for a bit, before going to Paris,” he teases lightly, “so I’m taking that to mean that I’m at your service, <em>monsieur</em>. Whatever you want to do today, we’ll do.” Everything else could wait, nothing was better than getting to make Harry smile like that.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>It turns out, it’s quite easy to make Harry smile like that. Maybe it’s the three day absence, but all he seems to want is to just be together, no matter what they do. And that’s easy. </p>
<p>Louis makes himself breakfast while Harry takes care of Bethany, and they chat about little things, unimportant things that leave Louis’ brain the moment the conversation shifts to another topic. He barely remembers what he’s eaten the moment he’s washed the dishes, but none of it matters, because what’s important is that he’s here, that Harry’s with him, and that it feels like everything’s gone back to normal.</p>
<p>After breakfast, they pop in a movie, light some candles, and with a nice cup of tea within reach, Louis takes care of Harry’s nails. He takes off the old polish first, gives him a massage with some nice smelling hand cream, pushing back his cuticles and making sure his nails are in good enough condition before putting some fresh polish on it. They are, of course, because Harry’s nails aren’t like his own, brittle and delicate, but it’s still nice, getting to take care of him this way, and when Harry sees the beautiful metallic red that Louis had picked up what feels like centuries ago now, his smile is more than worth it. “It’s so pretty,” he whispers, and all Louis can think is <em>you’re so pretty</em>, but for once he has the sense to filter the words that are coming out of his mouth. </p>
<p>Just like last time, Harry can’t stop looking at his nails, and Louis can’t stop looking at him, and he feels this warmth in his stomach, at getting to be a part of this. At getting to not just see him happy but make him happy. He shifts to bring one of Harry’s feet into his lap, can’t resist the urge to brush his fingers over his ankle bone, even when it makes Harry giggle and nearly kick his foot into his groin when the touch is ticklish. “D’you want the same colour on your toes, love?” He murmurs, and when Harry grins at him he doesn’t even need to wait for his enthusiastic <em>yes</em>.</p>
<p>With hands and feet taken care of but the polish still wet, Harry finds himself in a bit of a predicament, since he can’t exactly pick up Bethany and pet her, something she seems to completely disapprove of. She keeps nipping at his calf, giving him these looks that Louis swears are far more human than any bunny should be capable of, and he can’t help but laugh, especially at the conflicted expression on Harry’s face. </p>
<p>In the end, he’s the one that ends up with Bethany in his lap, and though he’s not Harry she seems content to let him pet her instead, twitching her little nose as she sniffs at the joggers he’s wearing, the ones that have seen better days but that are perfect for easy, slow mornings like this. He doesn’t even mind when she poops in his lap, because rabbit pellets are hard and easy to get rid of, and nothing is as important as this moment, as getting to exist in something so fragile and precious. </p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>After they finish the movie - that neither of them had really watched, but that was nice enough to have on in the background - and Louis has had another tea, Harry seems a bit at a loss as to what to do next. Louis can’t exactly blame him, there’s not all that much that he’s tried before, and he doesn’t have over twenty five years of experience to draw on when it comes to thinking up ideas. Not that Louis is much better at it, because he’s learned enough about himself to know about the things that bring him joy. He’s the type of person to watch the same shows over and over, just because they’re familiar and he likes that he doesn’t have to pay too much attention. So when Harry wants to do something but doesn’t seem exactly sure <em>what</em>, Louis isn’t much of a help.</p>
<p>Their options are limited, after all. It’s raining outside so they can’t go for a walk. Harry can’t eat, so although he finds pleasure in baking, he doesn’t get to enjoy the fruits of his labour. They’ve watched enough movies, listened to enough music. </p>
<p>In the end, it’s Harry who comes up with the idea. He looks a little shy, a little worried, and Louis is about to ask him what’s going on in his head when he gathers enough courage to ask. “Will you teach me how to sculpt?”</p>
<p>It’s unexpected, but Louis finds his stomach warming up at the thought of Harry wanting to learn. “Yeah?” He asks, smiling at him, finding Harry starting to smile back at him, a relieved expression on his face. “You want me to teach you?”</p>
<p>Harry nods, and there’s this adorable focused look on his face, like he’s determined to be a good student. Louis can’t help but think that it’d be true. That if Harry were to enroll in some college he’d probably be the best of his class, simply because he’d want to learn. The Professors would love him, he’s sure of it; little studious Harry in the front row, just soaking up all that knowledge. It almost makes him want to see if there’s a way they can make it happen. “I know it won’t be easy,” Harry says. “I’ve watched you enough to know that it’s not as simple as just picking up a chisel and getting to it. And I know you’ve gone to uni for it, so I’m not expecting to be good at it, but. It’s so easy to see how much you love it. I want to know what that’s like. To do something that you love that much.”</p>
<p>It’s sweet and sad at the same time, Louis notes, but he’s not about to dwell on the sad part of it. So he carefully puts Bethany on the floor, pushes himself up to a stand before pulling Harry to his feet as well. “C’mon then. I’ll teach you.”</p>
<p>Harry barely takes the time to put Bethany in her cage - whispering apologies to her as he does, and Louis can understand that, that he doesn’t like confining her to one small space, because in essence that’s the same as Harry is experiencing, but also, he doesn’t want to come out of his studio and find that she’s electrocuted herself by biting on wires - before all but dancing ahead of Louis towards his studio, his eagerness making Louis feel excited to share a little bit of his knowledge and passion.</p>
<p>Luckily there’s still a few pieces of marble that he hasn’t started working on, so they can use a piece that Louis hasn’t bought for a commission, because as much as Harry is made of marble and might potentially be a natural at sculpting, Louis isn’t exactly eager to take that risk. He sits Harry down first, on his mattress, telling him all about the different tools and showing him how to hold them properly, to minimize the risk of Harry accidentally hurting himself. Louis has nicked himself often enough, when he was lost in hyperfocus, but even though bleeding is a hassle, it’s a far cry from actually chipping Harry’s skin, doing damage to him that might be irreversible. </p>
<p>As he’d expected, Harry is a good student, attentive and careful, mimicking the way Louis holds his instruments and repeating it a few times to make sure that he understands what he’s doing. “You know what they’re going to be, right?” He asks, when he’s in front of the few small blocks of marble that Louis has placed on his workbench. “You’ve said that before, that you can tell. I couldn’t back then. Is that something that you’ve trained? Could I learn?”</p>
<p>He seems excited about the prospect, and Louis smiles, standing next to him, his hand on Harry’s hip because it’s natural now, to have some contact with him. “No and yes.” He says softly, knowing it’s not much of an answer but also knowing that it’s the best that he’s got. “Some people can learn. Some people never do. I don’t think it’s something that you <em>can’t </em>learn, necessarily. It just depends on whether you’re willing to listen, I suppose. Some people think that everything needs to bend to their will. If they want to make a ballerina, then they’ll make a ballerina, even if that’s not what the piece is supposed to be.” But somehow, even when he is the type of person that wants to control the world to some degree, he’s learned to bend to the will of the marble. Maybe it’s something to adopt in other areas of his life. </p>
<p>“You’re good at listening.” He continues. “You might not know, at first, what you’re listening for. What a piece is supposed to be. But I think if anyone can learn to figure it out, it’s you. You waited with Bethany until she was ready to tell you her name. If you give the marble the same time, then you might learn.” He gestures towards the pieces. “But if you want, we could do it together?”</p>
<p>Harry shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “How do we do that?” He seems eager, but nervous, like he could touch the marble and hurt it somehow, and Louis can’t help but smile. He reaches out for Harry’s hand, guides it towards the stone, his fingers laid over Harry’s.</p>
<p>“Just close your eyes,” he finds himself whispering, but can’t make his voice go any louder when they’re so close and this feels almost intimate somehow. “And feel.” </p>
<p>He can hear Harry swallow next to him, feels his fingers trembling underneath his own, almost flinching at the first contact like he’s not sure. Louis doesn’t force him, just keeps his hand over Harry’s, letting their fingertips drag down the material together. He closes his eyes too, everything magnified once he does, but he tries to ignore every sensation that isn’t the marble underneath his skin, the image that’s trying to call out to him.</p>
<p>There are lines, buried deep under the surface. Clean and delicate, flowy in a way that marble couldn’t possibly be, at first sight. He lets the image come to him, clears his mind until the outlines are crisp in his head and he knows with that calm certainty that all he needs to do is sculpt it, release it from the stone surrounding it. </p>
<p>He waits for Harry to finish brushing his fingertips over the marble, looks at him when he opens his eyes back up, a small frown appearing above those green eyes. “What did you see?” </p>
<p>Harry’s frown deepens for a moment. “I don’t know,” he says, glancing from Louis to the sculpture and back. “I mean. I think I saw something. But I don’t know if I really did see it. Because you mentioned a ballerina just now, so it makes sense that I thought of ballerinas when I touched the sculpture, and-” he shrugs. “It’s probably nothing, is what I’m saying.”</p>
<p>Louis smiles a little bit. “Well, if it helps, I saw a ballerina too. But if you’d like, we could try out this other piece, and I won’t tell you anything in advance.” He remembers this piece, remembers when he’d brought it home, knowing it had potential but not sure what it would turn out to be. It works like that sometimes. It can take time before the sculpture is willing to settle into one form, before it’s willing to tell him, and so he doesn’t know yet, if there’ll be form in it for either of them to see. “Here,” he takes Harry’s hand again, half to guide him, half for the simple pleasure of getting to touch him in a moment that was clothed in serenity. Harry’s fingers are steadier this time, bolder when they reach for the sculpture, as though he knows what he’s doing even when Louis knows he’s still so unsure. </p>
<p>He closes his eyes again, needs a moment to tune everything out, to focus on the shapes inside. They’re still formless at first, a swirl of lines and something else, something spiky but soft, and it takes him a moment to see it.</p>
<p>Harry is the first to pull back this time, and when Louis opens his eyes he can see Harry staring at the sculpture, the frown on his face replaced by something that almost mimics wonder. “What did you see love?” He whispers.</p>
<p>“You’re going to think I’m stupid.” Harry whispers and Louis frowns, shakes his head.</p>
<p>“Never.” He tells him, giving his arm a little squeeze. “Promise.”</p>
<p>Harry thankfully seems to believe him, but he still looks a little surprised, a little hesitant when he turns to look at the sculpture again. “I saw, I think I saw-” he pauses, exhales. “Bethany.”</p>
<p>Louis almost smirks. “Bethany?” He asks, and he’s just teasing, but he can see the moment that Harry’s hesitance overtakes his excitement, the moment where he almost shuts down, and he reaches out for him, steadies him with his hands on his hips. “Hey, no. I’m just teasing, love.”</p>
<p>Harry bows his head. “I knew it was silly.”</p>
<p>Fuck. “No, Haz, it’s not.” Louis keeps his voice soft, his hands even softer on Harry’s body. “It’s not silly at all, because you’re right. You’re exactly right, and it’s what I saw too.”</p>
<p>Harry glances up at that, narrowing his eyes like he’s trying to read the lie in Louis’, but Louis just lets him look, knows that there’s no lie to be found. “You’re not teasing now,” Harry whispers, but it’s not really a question. Louis shakes his head nonetheless. “How?” He glances from Louis to the sculpture, and back. “You’ve brought this in ages ago. How can it be Bethany in there when we didn’t even know about her back then?”</p>
<p>It’s one of those questions that Louis has asked himself before, but that he’s never really found a satisfying answer for. So he just shrugs his shoulder, smiles as he does to soften the blow. “I don’t know, love. It just happens. Maybe Niall’s right and there’s some sort of magic involved, though if there is, I don’t know if it’s necessarily me, seeing as how what’s at the core of this is the marble. But I remember bringing this piece home. I remember that I didn’t know what it was going to be at the time, just that it had potential to be something. Just like you were always going to be something, love.”</p>
<p>Harry chews on his lip. “But I needed you to bring me out. Do you think - maybe it <em>is</em> you. Maybe this piece would never have been Bethany if it’d been bought by anyone else.” He frowns. “Maybe I shouldn’t try and work on this, then. I wouldn’t want - she’s special.”</p>
<p>“So are you.” Louis counters softly. “Bethany’s yours, love, so maybe this is yours too.” He can see the stress lines on Harry’s face, shifts to rub his back, not even thinking twice about how much he’s touching him. It’s natural, when they’re so close, when they’re so in tune that Louis can almost feel what Harry’s feeling. “But if you want me to do it, I will.”</p>
<p>“Maybe that’s best,” Harry whispers, his bottom lip jutting out a little bit into a pout. “I wouldn’t want to ruin her. I don’t know what I’m doing.”</p>
<p>“You’ll learn.” Louis assures him. “I’ll help you.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>By the time they get out of the studio it’s grown dark in the apartment, and Louis’ stomach is rumbling. He’s forgotten all about lunch, but he can’t really be too bothered about it, not when it’s been so nice to spend this time with Harry.</p>
<p>He’d spent the afternoon teaching him, reminding him how to hold his chisel and to check for the lines that he knew were under the surface. Harry hadn’t dared to touch the marble that might at some point become Bethany, but he’d happily hacked away at the ballerina statue, taking off big chips at first until Louis had taught him otherwise, had reminded him that just because a sculpture was there, it didn’t mean that it would come out the way he wanted if he just went at it all willy nilly. Harry had seemed almost chastised at that at first, but he’d learned, adjusted the way he worked, until he was almost tender with his sculpture, the way that Louis always was with his own.</p>
<p>He’d even chanced working on his own commission for a bit, though he hadn’t made much progress, had found himself staring at Harry more than he’d done any work. That was alright though, because he’d promised Harry that today was about him.</p>
<p>Harry’s still filled with this excitement now, this need to create, and Louis can’t help but smile because he knows that feeling, knows what it’s like to have a muse whispering in your ear, compelling you to keep working. He redirects his attention to the kitchen, where he knows Harry finds his happiness in baking. So that’s what he does, while Louis cooks dinner. Something simple, because he’s too hungry for anything that takes too much time. While he cooks up some spaghetti, Harry breaks eggs and whisks butter and sugar, forages through cupboards for ingredients for his cupcakes. </p>
<p>(Louis makes a mental note to stock up on more baking supplies.)</p>
<p>It’s nice, working together like this. Harry’s humming some song Louis hasn’t heard before under his breath, and even though the smell of pasta bolognese doesn’t exactly mix well with the sweet scent of chocolate cupcakes, it’s still nice to be here together, to work side by side and make space for one another without even having to think about it.</p>
<p>Louis stays in the kitchen while he eats, while Harry is busy making icing for the cupcakes that are in the oven. Even from behind Louis can tell that Harry’s smiling. </p>
<p>“You love baking.” He says softly, and Harry gives him a soft smile, glancing at him over his shoulder. “I mean, you’re great at it too, but, you love it. I can tell.”</p>
<p>Harry hums, checking on his cupcakes before dipping his pinkie into the icing, an adorably focused look on his face as he tastes it. “I do.” He agrees. “I like getting to create something that wasn’t there before. Something more than the sum of its parts. It’s calming, somehow. When I start to worry about the future, or who I am, or what part of me is <em>me</em>, I always think of baking, and how mixing together all the parts isn’t enough to make a cupcake. It still needs warmth, and time, and eventually it turns into something completely new. “ He blushes a bit, not quite meeting Louis’ eyes. “That’s probably silly.”</p>
<p>Louis swallows a piece of pasta that somehow feels like it’s become stuck in his throat. “No,” he says quietly. “That’s not silly at all. That’s actually a really smart and lovely way of thinking about it, Haz.” It is sort of reassuring too. The thought that even if Harry was still made up of some components of what he wanted, that it didn’t mean he was always going to be just that. “And you know what. You’re also <em>just </em>as sweet as cupcakes, so, it works out.”</p>
<p>Harry just stares at him for a moment, and Louis almost feels too seen, almost wants to make another joke to diffuse the tension, but then, in a moment that happens so fast that Louis blinks and misses it, he suddenly ends up with his face covered in icing sugar. He gasps, nearly inhales so much powder that he chokes on it, but Harry’s there looking at him, half mischievous and half wondering if he’s gone too far, and that - </p>
<p>It’s instinct, that has him moving, that has him upending the last of his spaghetti onto Harry’s head. Little strands of spaghetti cling to his hair, the sauce dripping down his face and sliding past his collarbones, and Harry just stands there for a moment, dumbfounded.</p>
<p>The sight is enough to prompt a cackle from Louis’ throat, and for a moment he celebrates his win, thinks that this might be it and whatever had prompted Harry to start the fight (maybe it was just because Louis made terrible jokes, or maybe there was something else behind it, he doesn’t know and he’s not sure he’ll have the courage to ask) is over and done with now. But he should’ve known that he wouldn’t win that easily, not against Harry. He should’ve gotten a headstart, but hindsight is twenty twenty and all that. So Louis doesn’t run, doesn’t escape the kitchen, and this time Louis isn’t hit by icing sugar, he’s hit by actual icing, dripping sweet and sticky down his chest.</p>
<p>So of course it’s on. It’s war. </p>
<p>It’s messy and it’s sticky and it’s <em>war</em>, and Louis isn’t going to back down, even though he knows that the clean up is going to be a bitch. It’s not about that now. It’s about defending his status as champion, from Harry, who looks like an absolute menace as he hurls various food items at Louis, smiling wider than Louis has ever seen him do. He can feel the ache in his lungs, the tension on his face because he’s laughing too, this mix of relief and love and sheer exhilaration, of being a child and not having to worry, all coming together in a messy, sticky war.</p>
<p>Harry finally cries uncle when Louis has rubbed the remainder of the icing all over his face, and Louis laughs, letting himself fall back against the cabinets, taking a moment to survey the kitchen. He’s glad now that he hasn’t run away, because at least now the kitchen is the only disaster zone. And it is one, the floor slippery and sticky with various substances, his clothes and hands dirtier than he’s ever seen them. There’s egg dripping down from his hair, sliding wetly down his ear, and still he can’t stop laughter from continuing to bubble up his throat, this heady mix of lightness and happiness enveloping him even when he’s a mess.</p>
<p>“You’re the worst,” he groans, trying to comb the combination of egg and flour and possibly something else out of his hair, though he’s likely just making things worse, if the look on Harry’s face is any indication. “What’d you do that for?” </p>
<p>Harry’s laughing too, sitting down on the floor and resting his back against the fridge, looking just as much a mess as Louis is. He doesn’t seem too bothered though, even when it’s going to be difficult to clean up, even when Harry can’t just hop into the shower the way that Louis can - and for a moment panic almost grips at his heart, because he doesn’t know enough about marble to know whether things like this will stain, because he knows everything he thought he should know about marble but he’d never figured he’d have to know <em>this</em>. “You started it,” Harry says, and Louis wants to frown and splutter because he certainly did <em>not</em>. “You and your stupid jokes.”</p>
<p>Louis snorts. “You love my stupid jokes.”</p>
<p>Harry nods, but then makes a face at him. “I was being sincere!” He huffs, but it’s clear that he’s not actually upset, that he’s just joking. </p>
<p>“So was I!” Louis counters, looking around the kitchen and groaning. “Fuck. This is going to be a bitch to clean up. How come they never show that in movies? It’s always, food fights, they’re good wholesome fun. No one ever says anything about the aftermath!” </p>
<p>Harry’s smile fades somewhat at his complaining, as though he isn’t entirely sure that Louis isn’t upset, and Louis can’t have that, can’t have him doubting himself for something that was so sincere and sweet, something so <em>Harry</em> that it feels wrong to condemn it. So he doesn’t second guess himself, blindly reaches for the counter, for the one bowl that’s escaped the war so far, and dumps the contents of it - some chocolate sprinkles - onto Harry’s head. </p>
<p>Harry lets out a shriek, before realizing that whatever’s been dropped onto his head isn’t wet, and then he just looks at Louis, shaking his curls until sprinkles go flying everywhere. “What’d you do that for?” He asks, but he’s laughing again, and Louis shrugs his shoulder, brushes some sprinkles off of Harry’s shirt.</p>
<p>“Well, I did just call you sweet as cupcakes, <em>before</em> you started this war. Then you went and tried to prove me wrong, so I figured, only way I’m gonna win is if I prove you right, that you <em>are</em> sweet.” He’s talking shit, not even making sense with anything he’s saying and they both know it, but Louis isn’t going to say that he saw that Harry was getting insecure and that he doesn’t want him to, nor is he going to say that he loves seeing Harry this carefree and unencumbered, that he always wants to see him that way no matter the aftermath. </p>
<p>Harry doesn’t call him out on his bullshit, just collects a dollop of icing from his shirt, mixing with some chocolate sprinkles, and popping it in his mouth. Something about it makes him grin, eyes lighting up in a way that almost makes Louis worry that they’re about to go in for round two, but Harry seems content to just sit here, surrounded by flour and icing and chocolate. “Alright. You win.” He murmurs, still grinning around his finger. Louis can barely remind himself to stop staring. “For what it’s worth, even if you’re not much of a baker, I think you might have just saved this icing.” He teases. “Sprinkles. Inspired.”</p>
<p>Louis looks at him, at how happy he looks, and feels he might not be the only one talking shit. </p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>The clean up takes long enough that Harry’s cupcakes are completely cooled by then, but they’re both too sticky and gross to contemplate eating them just yet. So Louis takes a shower, and then painstakingly helps to clean off Harry, who might possibly be okay taking a shower too but Louis isn’t going to risk that much water on marble, not when he can clean him off this way and not risk any damage. When they’re both clean and dressed in comfortable clothes, Harry frosts his cupcakes, and they sink down onto the couch, legs tangling together naturally under the blanket.</p>
<p>The icing - chocolate sprinkles included - actually turns out to be amazing, and Louis can’t help but think that maybe that means something.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>Louis wakes up sore the next day, his muscles aching because he’d spent two hours on his hands and knees, cleaning the kitchen, but he can’t really fault anyone for that, so he doesn’t complain.</p>
<p>Much.</p>
<p>He does give a pitiful whimper when he’s on the couch, batting his lashes at Harry until he makes him tea, but that’s hardly complaining, and besides, Harry is fine. Harry doesn’t have muscles that ache, he’s not getting old and he definitely didn’t have to spend almost an hour in the shower trying to wash the egg and flour from his hair.</p>
<p>It’s a lovely day though, sore muscles aside. They play boardgames, and Louis doesn’t even cheat once. He does, at first, pretend to be a little bit less good at the games than he actually is, because he wants to give Harry a fair chance more than he wants to win, but that’s not really cheating. And besides, Harry picks up on the rules soon enough, and actually challenges him, and Louis can’t help but get more competitive, even if he somehow still doesn’t care when he loses. </p>
<p>He thinks his mum might be proud of him for that, because she’d seen plenty of games of Monopoly be thrown through the room when he was younger. He’d always been a sore loser, but somehow with Harry he doesn’t mind. </p>
<p>He knows better than to think he’s matured though, knows that it’s just Harry, but somehow he’s quite alright with that knowledge.</p>
<p>When they get to it, lunch consists of leftover cupcakes, and later on they order pizza for dinner; and all throughout the day everything is soft and lovely, and part of Louis wishes that it would never have to change.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>True to his promise, Louis doesn’t immediately leave Harry behind to go and see Shawn. He doesn’t even immediately call Shawn, is happy to push it to the back of his mind for the next few days. Those days are busy anyways, because they alternate working and spending their afternoons doing something fun. Louis would say that he’d been productive, even, but that would be a stretch because he doesn’t actually make much progress on his sculpture, teaches Harry how to sculpt instead.</p>
<p>In the end it’s Harry who hands him the phone. He does so with a sort of morose smile on his face, and Louis can’t help but be reminded of just how reluctant he’d been when he’d made him leave for Ireland, but he’s once again the one that pulls the trigger, that moves them forward. Louis isn’t sure what it means that he’s always leaving the decision up to Harry, but he’s glad that Harry finally seems to be alright with the idea of him leaving again.</p>
<p>Louis isn’t alright with the idea, but he knows that there’s not really an alternative, unless Shawn wants to come and visit him, and he’s not sure how he’d house not just a bunny, a semi marble sculpture, but also a wizard in his tiny apartment. </p>
<p>He’s nervous though when he dials the number on the wrinkled piece of paper Niall had given him, even with Harry’s fingers threaded through his and Bethany on his lap. It’s comforting, but it doesn’t keep his heart from pounding when the phone rings, that duller dial tone that reminds him that he’s making a call overseas. </p>
<p>At least Shawn has a phone though, and he’s not left to travel to Paris on his own, hoping that he’ll be let in and won’t be hexed on sight. </p>
<p>The voice on the other end of the line, when someone picks up, sounds both young and ancient at the same time, and Louis finds his heart skipping a beat, until Harry gives his hand a soft squeeze. “Hello?” He sounds timid, has to swallow twice to even make a sound. “I uh, is this Shawn?”</p>
<p>There’s a small but distinct pause, a moment where Louis is holding his breath. “Yes?” It sounds calm but wary, and Louis wonders if that’s because of him or because of Shawn. “Who is this?”</p>
<p>“Um,” Louis says eloquently. “You don’t know me, but, Niall gave me your number.”</p>
<p>This time the pause is distinctly pregnant, and Louis can hear Shawn swallowing audibly. “Did something happen to him?” He asks, and Louis bites his lip, because there’s so much in those words that he knows he isn’t the right person to help unpack. </p>
<p>“No, he’s not - I mean, he’s not injured or anything. I think he’s okay; at least, he was when I left him the other day.” He squeezes Harry’s hand back, makes a face at Bethany when she stands up on her hind legs to sniff at his chin. “He um, he says hi?” Hello, technically, but he doubts that makes much of a difference. </p>
<p>“I haven’t heard from him in a decade,” Shawn says, and Louis stays quiet, because he can tell that this is something unexpected, something that Shawn needs time to process. “I didn’t even know he had my number still.”</p>
<p>“He does.” Louis says helpfully. “Your address too. He said you were in Paris at the moment?” </p>
<p>Another slight pause. Then: “I am. He must’ve really wanted to help you, because he knows better than to send people to me without warning. Or he used to.” </p>
<p>Louis is definitely glad that he hasn’t just shown up on Shawn’s doorstep now. In hindsight, he really got off lucky with Niall. Had he known he wasn’t human, he might’ve thought twice about just heading over and surprising him. “Sorry,” he says, because somehow it sounds like that’s the right thing to say. “He did though. Want you to help me. At least, he said you might be able to help me. It’s, I don’t really know how to explain over the phone, but there’s this thing that happened, and he thinks that I might’ve caused it somehow, that I’m magical in some way?” He swallows. “He says you’d be able to tell me.”</p>
<p>Shawn hums. “When are you able to come to Paris?” </p>
<p>Harry arches an eyebrow, and Louis squeezes his hand again. “Um. It’ll take me a bit to get there, obviously, but soon?” He glances at Harry, whose face remains frustratingly blank, but who squeezes Louis’ hand back so he figures that that’s about the best response he could’ve hoped for. “When would you be able to make time for me?”</p>
<p>“I always have time,” Shawn almost laughs, and it’s that sound, tinny as it is through the phone, that relaxes Louis. He sounds younger somehow, more approachable, and infinitely less scary even though he could probably turn Louis into a toad with a top hat if he wanted to. “That’s not to say that I don’t have things going on, but, if it’s important enough for Niall to give you my number, then it’s gotta be something interesting.” There’s something in his voice that makes Louis wonder if he’s going to say anything more, but he doesn’t, even when Louis has the distinct impression that it’s not for lack of wanting to. </p>
<p>“He’s doing okay.” He says softly, knowing he’s probably overstepping his bounds, but from the way that Shawn exhales it’s worth the risk. “I mean, I clearly have no idea what happened between you, but, he spoke of you fondly, and he looks like he’s doing alright for himself. He’s got this little cabin in the woods, somewhere tucked away, and he’s lonely, maybe, but, he looked to be doing okay.”</p>
<p>Shawn hums, acknowledging his words, but he doesn’t say anything else for a moment. Louis can hear some papers rustling, shares a look with Harry, who now looks more resigned than anything, though he tries to smile when Louis does. “How’s Monday?” </p>
<p>Monday. As in, three-days-from-now-Monday. Louis swallows, wants to look over at Harry again, but he can see the tension in his jaw even from the corner of his eye. “I’m not sure-” he starts, but then Harry shakes his head, before nodding. “Maybe-” he tries to catch Harry’s eye, but even though Harry is clearly communicating with him he doesn’t seem too eager to meet his eyes, has let go of his hand in favor of petting Bethany. “Can you give me a second?”</p>
<p>He doesn’t wait for Shawn to answer, takes his phone away from his ear and rests his hand over the microphone as he turns his attention to Harry. “Love?”</p>
<p>Harry sighs, lifting Bethany out of Louis’ lap and onto his own. “It’s so soon,” he murmurs, and he sounds contrite, like he knows he shouldn’t be saying it, even though Louis would never tell him off for speaking his mind. He’s beating himself up enough, and also, Louis doesn’t care, will always put Harry’s needs above his own. </p>
<p>“It’s just a suggestion. I’m sure I can-” he starts, but Harry shakes his head again, finally meets his eyes. </p>
<p>“No, it’s silly. You should go.” He attempts another smile, even if he’s not very successful at it. “Just, bring me back something? I mean, information’s good, I know you’re not going to sightsee or anything, but, just bring me something, yeah?” </p>
<p>Louis can’t help but smile a little at that. “Of course I will,” he promises. It’s an easy promise to make, one that Louis can’t help but seal with a small kiss to Harry’s cheek, before he brings the phone back to his ear. “Shawn? Monday’s perfect.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>Luckily, Shawn’s Paris apartment is a lot easier to reach than Niall’s place had been, so rather than having to spend a day and a half traveling, Louis books a train for Monday morning. He also books a little Parisian B&amp;B, though he doesn’t immediately book a return ticket, knowing that it depends on what Shawn is able to decipher about him. If there is any latent magical ability he might need to stay for a few days - at the very least, though Louis is not about to tell Harry that he fears it might be weeks if he’s going to need to learn to do actual magic - and if not, he can book a last minute back home even from the station. </p>
<p>Even with that knowledge, the reality that Louis has to go on another trip looms over them, suffuses every activity they undertake with the understanding that their time is limited, and running out. Louis does the only thing he can think of: over the course of the next few days he hugs Harry whenever he looks like he needs a cuddle and he’s within reach; which he almost always is, so they spend a lot of time pressed close together on the couch. His reasoning is that he’s trying to make up for the time he’ll be away, that he doesn’t want there to be a moment where Harry feels lonely or upset. He knows it doesn’t work like that, that just like sleeping in advance doesn’t work, neither does this, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind, seems to gravitate towards him even more than before, and honestly, Louis is at least partially selfish in wanting to be close. Even if he is the one that gets to go to Paris. </p>
<p>(And he’s honestly excited about that, it’s been years since he’s been to Paris, and that had been on a school trip, at the age where nothing about school was cool, not even traveling abroad.)</p>
<p>Monday morning comes far too soon, and Louis can feel the weight in his stomach from the moment he gets up, even if Harry is doing a fine job at pretending that it’s just another morning. He’s made him breakfast, and packed him lunch, and Louis doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to eat any of it because of the lump in his stomach and the constricted feeling in his throat, because he can tell that Harry finds solace in cooking, that he’s needed something to keep his head and hands busy while Louis took an early morning shower. </p>
<p>It’s still dark out by the time that he’s ready to leave, a taxi waiting for him downstairs, but he finds himself lingering, finds himself going in for one last hug, one last promise that he’ll stay in touch, that he’ll be back soon, anything he can think of that will make this moment any easier. “I’ll be back soon,” he says, for the fifth time in just as many minutes, and Harry still doesn’t roll his eyes at him, just flattens out the creases on Louis’ jacket before rumpling them up again by bringing him in for another hug. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve done with the place.” He reminds him, and that at least brings a smile to Harry’s face.</p>
<p>Zayn and Liam had agreed to take a few days off of work to come help Harry decorate, because they’d all agreed that Harry really did need a place of his own, even if it was just the half of Louis’ studio. They’d cleared out a space over the weekend, Harry had picked out paints and furniture, and Liam and Zayn were going to help him set it all up while Louis was away. </p>
<p>He’s glad for it, not just because Harry has something to keep him busy, but also because it means he won’t be alone, won’t have to go without hugs if he’s in need of one. </p>
<p>Part of Louis wishes he could be there though. That he could watch Harry make some small part of his dreams come true. It’s a lot to ask of paint and furniture, and Louis <em>was</em> there when he’d picked it out online, had seen the excitement on his face when Louis told him to go for whatever he wanted - but there’s still a part of him that wishes he could stay, that he could be a part of it. They’ve probably got too much furniture to fit into the small space, but Liam’s a genius when it comes to decorating rooms and Zayn’s going to make sure that the walls are done up beautifully, and Louis can’t wait to come back and see Harry’s room. </p>
<p>It’s almost as though in some way, Harry is growing up and they’re growing apart, but Louis knows that that is <em>definitely </em>too much to ask of paints and furniture, and he knows that if he ever shared that thought Harry would immediately give up on the desire to have his own space. </p>
<p>So he keeps quiet, and just gives Harry one last hug, one last kiss on the cheek, before heading down the stairs, his feet made of lead.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>Shawn is, somehow, not at all what he expected. Even after having met Niall, after having learned to expect the unexpected, he’s still surprised when this tall young looking boy opens the door. He almost thinks he’s got the wrong house at first, but somehow, meeting Shawn’s gaze, he can tell that the young age is an illusion, that the man behind it has probably got centuries on him.</p>
<p>“Hi,” he says, his voice a bit wobbly though Shawn’s kind enough not to comment on it. “I - are you Shawn?”</p>
<p>“For now.” Shawn responds, and Louis is reminded of how Niall had told him it was the name he went by these days. He wonders if his real name is something private, something that he’ll share with people that he knows and trusts. He wonders if Niall knows his true name, but he’s not sure that bringing up Niall is a good idea. </p>
<p>Not because he isn’t interested, or he thinks that Shawn will hold him knowing Niall against him, but because there seems to be a <em>lot</em> to unpack there and he doesn’t really have time. </p>
<p>“Hi,” he says again. “I’m Louis.” </p>
<p>Shawn nods, and Louis is well aware of the fact that he probably knew that, guessed it or had some kind of warlock intuition, but he finds himself out of his comfort zone, far more than he’d done with Niall, when for all intents and purposes Shawn is the one that looks more human. </p>
<p>“Can I come in?” He ventures tentatively, and Shawn, to his credit, looks a bit sheepish as he steps back, leaving just enough room for Louis to squeeze by. </p>
<p>“Thanks.” He shrugs off his coat, leaves his shoes by the fancy leather looking ones under the coat rack, hesitant until Shawn passes him by and leads the way into his apartment. </p>
<p>There couldn’t be more of a contrast between Niall’s cabin in the woods and this fancy Parisian place. The feel of the living room is regal, almost, with tall cabinets that reach to the ceiling. The room is covered in dark wallpaper, which are offset by tall but narrow windows. There’s a chandelier that’s slowly turning around and around like a fan, and Louis finds himself compelled to look up at it, finds everything else melting away as the slow, soothing sway of the lights has him mesmerized. </p>
<p>There’s a quiet chuckle next to him, and suddenly the chandelier stops moving. “Sorry about that,” Shawn says, but he doesn’t sound too sorry. “Just a bit of an anti theft spell. Everyone who comes in here gets swept up in the movement. I meant to turn it off, but it doesn’t bother me, so I tend to forget.” </p>
<p>Louis isn’t sure if that’s true or if this is something like Niall’s truth tea, but he figures that he can’t exactly blame either of them, not when they had decades of experience with humans and the less kind side of humanity. Plus, with all the books in here, he can understand that there’s stuff that isn’t meant for human eyes. “That’s okay,” he finds himself saying, though it still takes him a moment to focus his attention elsewhere, on the man standing by his side. “Wait, it doesn’t bother you, because you’re a warlock?” At Shawn’s nod, he frowns. “Does that mean that I’m not?”</p>
<p>Shawn gestures for him to sit down, snapping his fingers as he settles into a chair of his own, a tea caddy floating out of the kitchen and into the living room. “Not necessarily,” he says, as he picks up the teapot and pours them both a mug. “Magic has a lot of forms. Just because you’re susceptible to one doesn’t mean that you don’t have another.” He holds out the mug to Louis. “Tea?”</p>
<p>Louis hesitates. “Is this tea going to force me to tell the truth?”</p>
<p>The laugh that follows that question is almost delicate, light in a way that’s surprising from such a tall man. “Niall’s still up to his old tricks, I see. No, don’t worry. I don’t need tea to make you tell me the truth.”</p>
<p>Louis arches an eyebrow. “That’s not exactly reassuring,” he says, though he does accept the tea. “I don’t think that <em>don’t worry</em> is usually followed by, y’know, such worrying statements.”</p>
<p>Shawn laughs again, and to his surprise, Louis finds himself wanting to join in. He isn’t sure what it is, but there’s something almost familiar about this. Even though Shawn’s apartment couldn’t be more different from Niall’s cabin, it still has the same feel. The same warmth and, somehow, security, like Louis isn’t in any danger here. He’s not sure if that’s true or if it’s another spell, but for the moment he can’t help but relax a little. It helps, he thinks idly, that Shawn’s couch is a lot more comfortable than Niall’s had been. “That’s fair,” Shawn says, picking up his own tea and taking a sip, almost demonstratively, like he’s trying to prove that Louis has nothing to fear. “But then again, it’s only worrisome if you were planning to lie to me.” He arches an eyebrow, and Louis snorts.</p>
<p>“True.” He still looks at the tea for a moment, before shrugging and taking a sip, finding that it’s somehow the perfect temperature, even though it had seemed boiling hot when Shawn had poured it. “I think we’d both know that that would be a waste of my time. Not to mention yours.” He sips from the tea again, finding notes of lavender and orange blossom, something soothing and pleasantly light on his tongue. </p>
<p>“I appreciate your concern for my time,” Shawn sounds amused, sitting back in his black leather chair, his fingers drumming up a casual beat on the armrest. Louis can suddenly see him with a guitar in his hands, maybe in another lifetime. It makes him smile. “I’d rather think yours is more limited than mine though, but still, it’s nice to see that some people are still considerate.”</p>
<p>“It’s so weird,” Louis blurts out. “Like, you look younger than me, but you’re doing the same thing Niall did. Talk like you’ve been around for hundreds of years.” He glances at Shawn. “You don’t need to tell me, by the way, I’m well aware that I’m already asking you for a favor, and that I’m not here to satisfy my curiosity about what Niall is or how old you both are,” let alone what had happened between them, “it’s just. I don’t know. Do you even like people?”</p>
<p>Shawn takes a sip from his tea, peering at him over the rim. “I love people. I don’t necessarily like them.” He shrugs, as though that makes sense, and in some strange way Louis thinks that maybe it does. “So, seeing as you’re not here to satisfy your curiosity - and no, I won’t tell you what Niall is, because that’s not up to me, and he’d have told you if he thought you needed to know - mind telling me what you are here for? You told me that Niall said that he thought you might be magical in some way?”</p>
<p>Louis can’t help but smile a little. It might’ve been a decade since they last spoke, but it’s clear now why Shawn and Niall were friends at some point. They both have the same approach, one that is hardly subtle; but somehow, even when it’s terribly direct, there’s something reassuring in it too. Like Louis could tell them everything, and he’d never have to worry.</p>
<p>So he does. He tells Shawn, like he told Niall. Talking about the kiss he laid on Harry when he was still a sculpture isn’t any easier this time, and even more so because Shawn seems interested in that part in particular. It’s understandable, of course, seeing as how that had been some sort of catalyst and <em>if</em> Louis had done any magic it would’ve likely been in that moment, but it’s still something that Louis feels some type of way about.</p>
<p>It’s not just embarrassment, over sinking so low that he’d been driven to such an act. It’s also, now that Harry is alive, that it feels unthinkable to ever kiss him without consent. He knows, logically, that he wouldn’t have been able to get consent beforehand, but he still feels a bit iffy about it, like he should ask Harry whether or not it was okay that he’d kissed him back then. </p>
<p>Add to it that without that kiss Harry likely wouldn’t be here, and it just all becomes muddled and difficult, because Louis can’t regret what happened after the kiss but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t and shouldn’t regret the kiss itself. It’s not fair that Harry’s first kiss was something he’d never chosen, something he hadn’t been prepared for or even wanted. </p>
<p>Louis has had a few kisses like that in his lifetime, and it’s not that he thinks they’re a big deal, but, they sort of are. There’s something violating about being kissed when you don’t want to be, and he remembers when it had happened to him, remembers the way he’d tried to laugh it off but something dark and dirty had wriggled inside his body, and he hates the thought that he could ever have made Harry feel that way.</p>
<p>In a way he’s almost grateful that he’s forgotten about most of that night, though Shawn doesn’t really seem to feel the same way. He keeps asking these questions that Louis just can’t answer, and he can tell, even without having to look at him, that there’s this sort of agitation in him; like the air has somehow gotten thicker and more charged. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, when Shawn has let out what feels like the third big disappointed sigh in just as many minutes, and Shawn looks at him and sighs again, but it sounds more resigned this time.</p>
<p>“No, it’s alright. It’s not your fault that you can’t remember.”</p>
<p>“Because I’m human and our minds are fickle and our memories notoriously unreliable?” Louis asks, and to his relief, Shawn chuckles.</p>
<p>“That,” he agrees. “But also, for such a fragile species you’re remarkably good at repressing things. Building up walls in your head. It’s fascinating, really. But right now, a little bit frustrating.”</p>
<p>Louis can’t help but snort at that. “Maybe it’s because we’re fragile that we repress so much.” Sometimes things are just too hard to deal with, and life is easier when things are shoved to the very back of your mind where you don’t have to worry about it. “I’m trying,” he says, quieter this time. “It’s not, I know it’s not an easy memory, but I am trying to recall it. It’s just, I was out of my head drunk at that moment, so it’s all kinds of fuzzy, and I don’t know if half of what I remember actually happened or if it’s one of those dreams I had before he came to life.” </p>
<p>Shawn looks at him for a moment, and Louis can feel a blush growing on his cheeks, can feel that familiar urge to run away and hide from prying eyes. “Can I try something on you?” Shawn says, and Louis can tell by the stab of adrenalin that suddenly flushes his system that whatever he’s about to say it’s probably going to make him feel very awkward. </p>
<p>“Will it help?”</p>
<p>Shawn shrugs a shoulder. “I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think it’d help, but I can’t guarantee it.” He says sensibly, and Louis figures that’s reasonable, so he nods. “I’d like to bring you into a light trance. Nothing serious, nothing that’ll have any lasting effect. Just enough so that the blocks that your mind has called up will disappear, and we can get the most accurate account of what actually happened that evening.”</p>
<p>Louis finds himself blushing a bit more. “Will I have to tell everything, or, how does this work?”</p>
<p>“You’ll remember, but, if you’ll let me do this spell, I’ll also be able to see it firsthand.” </p>
<p>There’s a small part of Louis that wants to say no. That wants to keep the moment to himself, because it’s an embarrassing one, yes, but also because it’s so intimate. It’s one of those moments where he was so vulnerable that he’s not sure he’s ready to share that with anyone, not even Harry, who had thankfully forgotten all about it. He’s not even sure he’s ready to face it himself, to watch it back and remember all those feelings that he’d had no name for at the time. </p>
<p>But if it’s going to help Harry, there’s no way that he’ll say no.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>It’s one thing to remember. </p>
<p>It’s quite another thing to <em>feel</em> it. </p>
<p>The memory is vivid. He feels like he’s transported there, back to that moment, back to all the confusion and grief and longing that he’d forgotten about since - or buried, locked away so thoroughly that he is almost overtaken by it now.</p>
<p>But it’s not just the emotions that are hitting him full on like a freight train. It’s the sensations too. The way the marble feels underneath his lips. The way he presses against it long enough for the stone to pick up some of the heat from his skin. </p>
<p>He knows it can’t possibly be true, hadn’t been true back then, but now that he’s reliving this memory he swears that for a moment those lips aren’t hard and unforgiving, they’re soft and plush instead, pressing back against him with just as much desire as Louis is feeling. For a brief moment, as his hand comes up to Harry’s neck he swears that the curls he feels underneath his fingertips are soft, his hand easily tangled in it. And it’s that realization that makes him stumble back, just like he’d done the moment it had actually happened; it hadn’t been the knowledge that he was kissing a sculpture, it’d been the shocking feeling of something human, underneath the surface.</p>
<p>The room spins and then suddenly stops when Shawn snaps his fingers, and Louis feels as though he’s just apparated, like everything inside of him is still traveling even when his body has never left the couch. His lungs struggle to inhale enough oxygen, and even when he’s not lost in the memory it’s still there now, little puzzle pieces that finally come together to form a full picture. </p>
<p>“Jesus.” Louis whispers. “Fucking hell. No wonder I tried to forget about all that.” He tries to make light of it, to joke, because the alternative, paying attention to everything he hadn’t remembered he’d forgotten, just feels a bit too overwhelming right now. </p>
<p>“Can you tell me about it?” Shawn, to his credit, sounds delicate, like he’d love nothing more than to give Louis some time, or to not have to pry into something that was far too personal to share at all. “I’ve seen what happened, but at first glance I can’t see any clear signs of magic. That doesn’t mean that it wasn’t there though. It might’ve been more subconscious than either of us realized.”</p>
<p>Louis rubs at his face. “You want me to tell you about the way I felt?” He whispers, and when Shawn nods in response he can’t help but groan. “Fuck. Okay. Okay, I can do that. What do you need to know?”</p>
<p>Shawn gives him a small, sympathetic smile. “Everything.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>Louis is exhausted by the time he leaves Shawn’s flat. It feels like he’s ready for bed, but it’s only three in the afternoon and even though his B&amp;B is closeby he knows that if he goes to bed without calling Harry he’s going to come home to more than rabbit poop in his bed.</p>
<p>So instead he heads to a small nearby bakery, buys a posh stuffed croissant that he demolishes in seconds, and wills the crisp air to clear his head the way it’s doing to his lungs. </p>
<p>Paris is beautiful, and even though Louis can’t understand the language there’s something soothing about sitting on a bench and listening to it, watching mums with children or the odd couple holding hands pass him by. It’s an older couple, well into their seventies if Louis’ instinct is correct, that makes him smile. The way the man holds the woman’s hand - the way he leans into her ear to whisper something and Louis swears he can see her eyes light up - almost makes him feel vulnerable.</p>
<p>He wants that. He remembers wanting it the night he kissed Harry and he wants it again now even if he knows it can’t happen. Not with Harry. He knows that there’s a million reasons that it can’t ever happen, but somehow, sitting here in the middle of Paris, it doesn’t stop him from wanting it. From sitting with that want for a moment, before carefully, tenderly tucking it back inside his heart where it can stay without being in danger of getting hurt. </p>
<p>He takes his time, making his way over to the Eiffel tower before he’s ready to call Harry. He takes a few pictures, has them ready to send, but ends up calling him instead, settling down with the Eiffel tower in the background so it’s the first thing Harry sees when he picks up. </p>
<p>The gasp Harry lets out is worth it, and the way he leans into the phone, until it’s hard to make out the features of his face, is endearing enough that for a moment Louis can’t shove down that fluttery feeling in his heart. “Hi love,” he says, and he knows that his voice is too fond, his expression too tender, but Harry doesn’t seem to notice, seems to barely pay attention to anything except for the Eiffel tower.</p>
<p>“It’s so big!” He whispers, and any other circumstance Louis would’ve made a <em>that’s what she said</em> joke but he can’t find it in himself to take away even a moment of Harry’s wonder. Not when this is the first time he’s seen the Eiffel tower in anything other than a picture.</p>
<p>“It is,” he agrees softly, angling the phone so that Harry can see the tower a little better. “I wish you were here with me, so you could see it in person.” He says, and Harry’s lovely green eyes focus on him for a moment. </p>
<p>“You sound sad,” he notes, and Louis contemplates that for a moment.</p>
<p>
“I don’t think I am.” He makes a bit of a face. “Tired, though. Kind of wish I was home already. Could do with a cuddle and a nap, if I’m honest. And Paris is beautiful, but, it’s not as fun without you. There’s so many things that I want you to see, Haz. So many places I want to take you.”</p>
<p>Harry gives him a soft smile. “And you will.” He sounds so certain of it that Louis, tired as he is, allows himself to believe that. “Are you sure you’re alright? Did Shawn say anything?”</p>
<p>Louis drags a hand through his hair, and then over his face for good measure. “He doesn’t think I did magic. From what he could see, there’s nothing magical about me. My Hogwarts letter hasn’t gotten lost in the mail after all, it seems.” He smiles, is happy to see Harry smiling back at him at the joke, fondly remembers watching the movies with him and how Harry had loved them just as much as Louis had done when they’d first come out. “He said he’d contact some people though. Look into some things. He made me leave a lock of my hair, so if I come home and turn into a frog then you know who to blame.”</p>
<p>Harry nods, very seriously. “We all know how much the French like their frogs.” He says, and Louis snorts.</p>
<p>“I don’t think he’s French love. And I don’t think I’d much like the implication of him wanting to eat me, if he was.” </p>
<p>“I wouldn’t let him.” Harry says.</p>
<p>He looks so determined that Louis can’t help but smile. “Don’t know if you’d be able to win in a fight against a warlock.” He deadpans, and this time it’s Harry’s turn to smile. 
</p>
<p>“Who said anything about fighting? I’d just have to kiss you, and you’d turn into a Prince. Isn’t that how it works in the stories?”</p>
<p>It’s casual, and Louis is sure Harry doesn’t mean anything by it, but he still finds his heart skipping a beat at the words, at the implication that he’ll feel Harry’s lips on his at some point in the future. He’s taken back to his earlier thoughts, about consent, and how Harry had never been able to give him that. “Well, in case I turn into a frog, and you have no choice but to kiss me and turn me back, let me just say now that I consent to you laying one on me if it means that I won’t have to spend the rest of my life in a pond, catching flies for dinner.”</p>
<p>Harry chuckles at that. “That’s good to know.” He looks at Louis, though Louis can still tell that at least half of his attention is centered on the Eiffel tower in the background. “Will you bring me something from Paris? I know you’ll be home soon - are you taking the train later today? Or are you coming back tomorrow?” He seems to have interrupted himself, shakes his head with a little smile. “Either way. Can you bring me a souvenir?”</p>
<p>There’s a brief moment where Louis wonders if maybe he should try and book a train for tonight, but he knows it’ll be late by the time he’s back in London, and that there’s little point in it except for the silly desire of not having to spend a night apart from Harry. He also thinks Harry might like it, if he did come back, and he knows <em>he</em> would definitely like it, could barely stand the thought of being away from Harry for one night even before Shawn had dragged up all those feelings.</p>
<p>But those feelings are exactly why he shouldn’t head home straight away. It’s not like he hadn’t been aware of them before, to some point at least, but they’re closer to the surface now, demanding attention that he’s not ready to give them. He needs some time to himself, to hide them away, to stop himself from feeling overwhelmed over something that had happened weeks ago. Something that wasn’t real, because he loves Harry, yes, but he can’t <em>love</em> him. Even when he knows that part of him does, he knows that it isn’t right, that there’s too many reasons why it’s a terrible idea to allow his feelings to lead him. He needs a night away so he can focus on what’s truly important. Harry’s future. His life, in whatever way he will end up leading it.</p>
<p>“Of course I will bring you back a souvenir,” he tells him, a little belatedly if the curious expression on Harry’s face is any indication. “And yea, I was thinking I’d book a train for tomorrow morning. Might as well, if I’m going to have to find you something to remember Paris by.” It’s a stupid, flimsy excuse, but Harry doesn’t seem to think anything of it. “What would you like?” </p>
<p>Louis gives him a small fond smile. “I’m sure they have tons of souvenirs of the Eiffel tower, but if you want something else, just tell me, and I’ll make sure I find it.” He thinks he might do anything to make Harry smile. </p>
<p>Harry seems to debate it for a moment, ends up giving him a gentle shrug. “Something that makes you think of me.” He says eventually, and even though Louis is loathe to admit it, an idea pops into his head straight away. It’s something silly yet personal, something that’ll make Harry want to go to Paris himself one day. </p>
<p>“Alright,” he whispers, swallowing a lump in his throat that has no right to be there. “I think I know exactly what to get you.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry still rushes at him the moment he gets to his front door even though he’s been gone for no more than just over twenty four hours. Louis still lets him, wrapping his arms around him in return and holding onto him, breathing him in. </p>
<p>He’d spent the entire evening (and much of the remnant of the afternoon, if he’s honest) carefully constructing a wall around his heart, pushing down those feelings that had no business being this close to the surface, hiding them away so that he’d be able to function like he’d done before, a little bit enamored with Harry but not enough that it would end up hurting him. Of course, coming home, the way Harry rushes at him is almost like a sledgehammer to those walls, making them tumble down and making Louis have to catch his breath when Harry is in his arms again. </p>
<p>It’s stupid. He’s stupid. He knows better than to allow himself to dwell on his feelings for Harry. Because nothing’s changed, nothing can happen between them, and even though there’s a tiny voice in his head that can’t help but pipe up and ask <em>why</em> whenever he tells himself that, it’s easy enough to shush that voice and pretend that all of his reasons are still just as valid as ever.</p>
<p>Besides, it’s not like he’s <em>pining. </em>Even if his feelings for Harry aren’t entirely platonic, they don’t justify changing everything between them. They don’t warrant the inevitable awkwardness where he has to decide between telling Harry or just flinching away from him when Harry’s cuddling up with him, and honestly, he’s not willing to do either. </p>
<p>And anyway, it’ll be fine. It’ll fade, because if there’s one thing Louis is good at, it's prodding at his emotions for so long that he’s able to rationalize them and turn them into something different, something redirected that he is allowing himself to feel. If he can just tell himself that his love for Harry <em>is </em>platonic, that he just cares so much for him because he’s literally <em>in his care</em> and that when he’s dreaming about the future it just means that he wants Harry to have a future, then he’s golden. And even when he can’t convince himself of that just yet, even when he knows that it’s more than platonic, he can convince Harry of it at least. And he can try to convince himself at the very least that this is enough, that just because he feels something it doesn’t mean that he has to act on it. It’ll be <em>fine.</em></p>
<p>None of his turmoil stops him from lingering in his embrace though, at least for as long as Harry is holding onto him, and when he pulls back Louis is quick to school his features into something a little less fond, a little less revealing. “Hi love,” he murmurs, reaching out to tuck a wayward curl behind Harry’s ear. “Miss me?”</p>
<p>Harry smiles that small, private smile that Louis has grown so fond of, ducks his head a bit though he’s still looking up at Louis through his lashes. “A bit,” he admits, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as though he’s trying to keep himself from smiling too much. “Glad it wasn’t too long this time though. Didn’t get to feel as lonely as I did last time.” He steps aside, to allow Louis enough room to pass him by, head inside. “Still glad to have you back here. I know that you can take care of yourself and all, but my brain likes to try and convince me that anything could happen.”</p>
<p>Louis toes off his shoes, hangs up his coat, glad that he isn’t soaked through for once. It’d been cold outside, but at least it’d been dry, and he isn’t in any immediate need for a shower. “Safe and sound,” he murmurs, smiling up at Harry as he leads him into the living room, towards the couch where they tangle together naturally, Louis having just enough time to drop his bag next to the couch. “I mean, I had to sit the entire train ride next to this very loud guy, who was being an absolute arse to everyone around him, but that was the worst thing that happened, and it was only a few hours.” He would’ve switched seats but everywhere else was full, and he hadn’t wanted anyone else to have to sit next to him, with how absolutely cantankerous the man had been. Louis had had half of a mind to tell him off once or twice, but the guy had been like two heads taller and a good bit thicker, and Louis hadn’t really felt comfortable speaking up. </p>
<p>Which sucked, because he always tried to be that person who protected others, who stood up for them and did the right thing, but he wasn’t that naive that he could completely disregard his own physical safety.</p>
<p>Though. He’d have told him off if Harry had been there and the guy had been an ass to him, because no self preservation instinct in the world is enough for him to let anyone badmouth Harry, let alone hit on him in that sleazy sort of way. But Harry hadn’t been there and luckily the few women in the carriage hadn’t seemed too bothered. It probably meant that they were used to it, unfortunately, but all in all, Louis was glad that the situation hadn’t spiraled. </p>
<p>Harry’s listening to him with his toes tucked under Louis’ thigh again, his fingers dragging through his hair in a way that makes all the tension just drain from Louis’ body, a tingling feeling running down his spine as nails scratch at his scalp. “I’m glad you’re home,” he whispers, like it’s a secret and Bethany would judge him for saying it. Like he hadn’t just said the same thing a few minutes ago. Louis’ heart still does this little thump like it’s the first time he’s heard something so sweet. </p>
<p>“Me too.” Louis whispers back. “Paris is beautiful, but, like I said. It would’ve been more fun with you there.” It’s not like he’d been to Paris often enough that the sights were familiar to him, but he thinks it might’ve been wonderful to see them for the first time through someone else’s eyes. Especially someone as excitable as Harry, who hadn’t yet learned how to hide his emotions. He is childlike in his wonder, in his appreciation for the beauty in the world, and Louis thinks that more people should be like that. More people should take time to smell the roses and admire the trees. </p>
<p>“Someday,” Harry says, and he sounds so sure about it that Louis doesn’t let himself think of all the things that could happen in the meantime. He just nods, reminded of something, and moves to pull out the small present from his bag, balancing it on his palm.</p>
<p>“This is what I got for you.” He tells him, the bright red ribbon wrapped so beautifully around the golden package. “It’s just something small, but, I think it’s fitting.”</p>
<p>Harry doesn’t hesitate in reaching out, barely manages not to snatch the package from his hand, and the way he rips off the wrapping paper is far from careful. If he were fully human Louis would warn him about papercuts, but as it is, he just sits there, chuckling quietly to himself as Harry unwraps his present and opens up the box.</p>
<p>He looks at his face, watches his eyes widen and then narrow, a small frown appearing between his eyebrows. “I don’t get it,” he says quietly, looking at Louis and then back at the present. “How does that remind you of me? Do I keep you locked up? Am I keeping you from living your life because-”</p>
<p>Louis reaches out for him and squeezes his wrist. “No,” he says softly, his voice insistent enough that Harry exhales audibly, stops working himself up to a rant. “I adore you, stop it.”</p>
<p>“But-” Harry says, and Louis can’t help but smile.</p>
<p>“Give me a second to explain, will you?” He teases, and Harry makes a face at him, but nods, looking up at him with an expression that’s so open and trusting that Louis can barely resist the urge to brush his fingers over his smile. He takes the padlock from the box, holds it in his palm. “You know how they say Paris is the city of love, right?” Harry nods even though Louis isn’t sure that he actually did know that, and he holds up the lock, places it in Harry’s palm and folds his fingers around it. “They used to have this bridge, the Pont des Arts, where lovers would come and place a padlock on the railing of the bridge. They’d write their initials on it, and lock it in place, throw the key into the Seine. It was a symbol of commitment.” </p>
<p>He’s clearly got Harry’s attention now, his eyes widening again, something sweet in his expression, and Louis continues. “They’ve taken the locks down since, because there were so many that the structural integrity of the bridge was in danger, but vendors still sell them everywhere, and you find them scattered throughout Paris.” He gives him a sheepish looking smile. “When I thought of you going to Paris, I thought this is exactly the kind of thing that you’d do. When you find your person, you’d like that idea, of there being a padlock with your initials on it, telling your story for you.” Even if people would never know just how truly special that story was. “You’d fit beautifully in Paris,” he finds himself whispering, knows that he’s blushing a little bit. “It’s so - everything is full of love, and that’s what you’re like. You’ve got so much love and wonder for everything. I thought this was a nice symbol.”</p>
<p>Harry looks at the padlock again, strokes his fingertip over the key, and Louis knows that it’s ridiculous but he swears that it’s almost as though Harry is stroking his fingertip over his skin instead. It makes him shiver, but thankfully Harry is too preoccupied to notice. “I like it,” Harry decides in a soft voice. “It makes me feel hopeful.” He glances up at Louis, gives him a small smile. “You giving me this, that says so much. You think I’ll get to go there. You think I’ll get to love somebody enough that I want to hang that padlock on a bridge. It’s - thank you, Louis.” He reaches out for him, wraps him up in a hug. “I mean it. Thank you.”</p>
<p>Louis smiles against Harry’s shoulder, gently rubbing his back with one hand, the other trapped between their bodies. “You’re welcome love.” He’s glad that Harry gets it. That he understands what Louis had been trying to say, even when his words don’t always come out right. “You’ll tell me, yeah? When you get to go there, when you’ve hung it up somewhere. Don’t just take a photo of it, but tell me when it’s happening alright? Because it’ll be one of the happiest moments of my life, knowing that you got there. Knowing that you’re happy.”</p>
<p>Harry squeezes him a bit tighter, before pressing a small, impulsive kiss to Louis’ cheek. He blushes a bit when he pulls back, but he still meets Louis’ eyes, nods. “I will. You’ll be the first to know.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>The next week is fairly quiet. They’re waiting for Shawn to contact them, and though Louis knows that he said it’d take time, he still finds himself a little disappointed with every day that goes by that they don’t hear anything. He tries to tell himself that no news is good news, that if Shawn wouldn’t know how to help he’d let him know, but when a full week has passed, he can’t help but worry a little bit. Perhaps in the grand scheme of things Louis doesn’t rank high on Shawn’s list of priorities, and maybe he’d forget to call.</p>
<p>He’s not been as productive as he wanted to be in the past week either. Granted, he’d finally made some more progress on his sculpture, and he’d say it’s about a good three quarters done, but it feels like he’s keeping himself busy, rather than actually feeling inspired to work. </p>
<p>It’s still nice though, being in the studio, because Harry’s with him every day, even when he’s not hacking away at his own sculpture that’s coming along slowly but that’s resembling something recognizable by the end of the week. Sometimes he just spends time on his bed, now that he’s actually got one instead of a mattress on the floor. It’s just a single, and he doesn’t spend every night in it, because some nights they end up talking on Louis’ bed and fall asleep like that, but it’s still something that belongs to Harry, and it brings a smile to Louis’ face whenever he sees the small space. It’d been beautifully decorated in the short time he’d been away to Paris, Zayn’s touch obvious in the mural he’d painted. It’s bright and sunny and perfectly Harry, and Louis likes that he’s got this little shelf above his bed where he’s keeping the things Louis has given to him. The penguin plushie sits next to the box with the padlock, and Louis can’t help but want to buy him more things, wants to fill up that shelf and give Harry his own belongings that aren’t just clothes or skincare products. He wants him to have books and knick knacks, picture frames and flowers. Harry deserves flowers. </p>
<p>When his phone finally rings - at least, when his phone finally rings and his heart doesn’t leap in his throat only to sink when he reads the name on the display, finds out it’s Zayn calling, or Lottie or his mum - on Wednesday morning, more than a full week since he’d left Paris, Louis nearly falls off the bed the moment he sees that it’s actually Shawn calling him this time. He barely manages to catch himself, avoids hitting his face onto the floor, and though his wrist aches he can’t even care about it right now, can’t care about anything except for how the next few minutes might be the most important of his life.</p>
<p>“Hello?” It’s breathless, and for a moment the other side of the line is quiet, before Louis hears a soft chuckle.</p>
<p>“Did I interrupt something?” He asks dryly, and Louis finds himself flushing, finds himself thinking back on how Shawn had seen him kiss Harry when he was a sculpture, and it takes him a moment to shake it off. </p>
<p>“No.” He says, too insistent and too hasty, and Shawn just chuckles again. “I just fell off the bed, is all. I’ve been hoping you’d call.”</p>
<p>“Be still my heart,” Shawn teases, and Louis finds himself smiling. In this entire journey he’s met people he never thought he’d meet, but he finds himself thinking of them fondly. In another lifetime, in another universe, he thinks they might have been friends. “Sorry it took me a while. I didn’t want to call without having any answers.” </p>
<p>Louis’ heart leaps. “So you do? Have answers?”</p>
<p>Shawn hums. “It wasn’t easy. I mean, I’ve been around for a good while, but even so, there’s a lot of people that might have information that I don’t know. I had to go through my network and see if anyone could help me out.” </p>
<p>Louis sits on the bed, finds his legs aren’t steady enough to hold him up. He crosses them, rests his elbow on his knee, his chin in his hand because if he doesn’t lock his muscles right now he might fall off the bed again, or possibly scream. He wants to remind Shawn that he doesn’t have centuries to live, that he’d like to know what he’s going to tell him <em>now</em>, please, but Shawn’s still got a lock of his hair, possibly, and Louis doesn’t want to get on his bad side and figure out just what he can do with it. So he just bites at his thumb and stays quiet, wondering for a moment if he should go and get Harry, but deciding against it because he’d rather tell him bad news himself than have him overhear it, even if that’s perhaps not fair. </p>
<p>“We’ve ruled out magic, at least the type of magic that I can do, or that warlocks can detect,” Shawn continues, undeterred. “I went through my contacts, people who practise different kinds of magic. We’ve had quite a few people working on this for the past week. No one’s ever heard of anything like this happening, so they were all quite intrigued. You’re a bit famous now, among us magical beings, so don’t be surprised if you find a fairy poking her head in just to get a peek at you or Harry.” He chuckles, and Louis finds his head spinning, his heart torn between skipping beats and just giving up beating altogether. “Anyway. Like I said, no one’s ever heard of anything like this happening before.”</p>
<p>Louis releases his thumb from between his teeth, rubs absently at the small indentations on his skin. “So your answer is that you have no clue on how to help?” He sounds timid, feels an ache spreading all across his body. Niall had told him that Harry could live a happy life even without being human, but Louis doesn’t want that to be the answer. Even if all kinds of magical creatures, or beings, had bent their heads over this, he can’t believe that this is it. That there’s nothing more to try, no more hope. It’s not fair, and it’s not acceptable. He’s about to say all that when Shawn sighs.</p>
<p>“Not exactly.” He says, grudgingly. “There is one thing you can try. But it’s risky, and I wouldn’t advise it.” </p>
<p>Louis shifts, curling in on himself a little bit more. “Oh?”</p>
<p>Shawn sighs again. “I know that you’re not going to listen to me, even if you really should. I’ve learned that much from you, and from Niall. I called him, when you left last week. You’re a stubborn sort, and so I know that you’re going to do whatever it is you think is necessary, but, be careful alright? I’m sure that for as much as Harry wants to be human, he doesn’t actually want you hurt. Do you understand?”</p>
<p>“No.” Louis says bluntly. “Because you’ve yet to tell me exactly what you’ve figured out I can try.” He figures that Shawn is probably not doing it on purpose, but vague predictions of doom aren’t really phasing him, even when he knows they probably should. </p>
<p>To his credit, Shawn chuckles, and Louis can just picture him, squeezing at the bridge of his nose because he’s exasperated with humans. He’s probably also a little impressed though, or maybe that’s just Louis’ interpretation based on his tone. “There’s an Oracle, in Greece, that magical beings use from time to time. It’s a direct connection to the divine, to God, or whatever you believe in. For us, it’s a direct connection to the source of magic, but it’s different for everyone.” Louis can tell that he’s hesitant to continue, and though it pains him to do so, he stays quiet, hoping that Shawn will tell him a bit more. “It’s dangerous, Louis. I can’t stress that enough. Before you get to speak to the Oracle, you will be tested. I can’t tell you what the tests will be like, because they’re different for everyone, based on your question. But if you get through the tests - and it’s an <em>if</em>, because people have come back different, or don’t come back at all - then the Oracle might be able to give you an answer.” </p>
<p>Louis stares at his blanket for a moment, his head pounding, information whizzing through it so quickly that it beats against his temples. “That’s the only solution?” He whispers, watching as his hands curl into the blanket, fingers so tight they’re almost white. “The only way I’ll ever find out if it’s possible to make Harry human, and how, is if I go to Greece and let myself get tested?”</p>
<p>“I really didn’t want to tell you,” Shawn mutters, and Louis smiles sympathetically, because it’s clear that he’s frustrated, or at least worried. He hopes he’s worried. “I thought about not telling you, but, ultimately your journey isn’t up to me. Niall reminded me of that. But I don’t like it, and I really wish that you wouldn’t go. I know that you’re probably not going to listen to me, but I have to say it. It’s dangerous, and you should be aware of the risks that you’re taking. What you’re willing to give up, versus what you’re going to gain.”</p>
<p>Louis knows that he’s right. That he really should take stock of what he could lose, what could happen to him. “Thanks Shawn,” he says softly, and Shawn just sighs in response before he hangs up. It’s a defeated sort of sigh and Louis can’t really blame him, because he’s willfully blind when it comes to Harry. If the Oracle has an answer, doesn’t he owe it to him to go through with it?</p>
<p>Or was this what Niall had meant? When he said that not everything was in Louis’ control and he had to remember the cost, and that Harry didn’t need to be human to live a fulfilling life? But then again, he’d told Shawn that this journey wasn’t his to decide, so did that mean he was more hopeful than Shawn was? </p>
<p>There’s a part of him that doesn’t want to tell Harry. That wants to just tell him he’ll be able to find a solution in Greece, but leave out the part where something bad might happen to him. It’s tempting, to just keep that to himself, to never share just how ready he is to sacrifice himself for the people he loves, because it isn’t about recognition, and once he makes up his mind there is usually little that can deter him. </p>
<p>But he knows Harry would never forgive him if something did go wrong. Knows that he’d feel guilty, even if he hadn’t been the one to encourage Louis to go.</p>
<p>So even though his heart is heavy and he’s not looking forward to the conversation, he still finds himself heading to the studio, knocking on Harry’s door. It’s something he’s started to do more often, now that Harry has a sort of room there, because he deserves his privacy just like anyone else. Plus, it gives him a moment to gather his thoughts.</p>
<p>Not that that helps much, because the moment Harry opens the door, the moment he sees Louis’ face, he knows. “Shawn called,” he says, and the expression on his face is so clear it almost takes Louis’ breath away. There’s pure naked <em>hurt</em> etched onto those features, there’s loss and grief and Louis wants to wrap him up in his arms and assure him that it’ll be alright, but he just stands there, mouth dry, and nods. “Oh.” Harry whispers, moving back into the room, picking up Bethany from the bedspread and holding her close. “Okay.” He hears him whisper, his voice hollow. “That’s okay. I knew - I mean, I sort of figured - it’s been a week and - at least we tried.” </p>
<p>Louis sits down on the bed, his knees feeling so weak that he thinks they might buckle under the weight of their shared emotions. He rubs at his bare knee even though his body is so numb that he can barely feel it, finds himself staring at the floor without seeing it, not even moving when Harry shifts to sit next to him. “Lou?” His hand is tentative on his shoulder, and it’s like that kick starts something, like it breaks through the numbness surrounding him. </p>
<p>Louis shudders, tears suddenly forming in his eyes, rolling down his cheeks. He doesn’t have the energy to brush them away, or even hide it from Harry, can only sit there and have Harry’s voice on repeat in his head. <em>At least we tried</em>, but it mixes with <em>you said it would be alright</em> and his head is pounding now, to the beat of <em>your fault, your fault</em>.</p>
<p>“Hey. Lou. Hey.” He can feel Harry shift next to him, thinks that he must have put Bethany down because he’s suddenly in Louis’ lap, wrapped around him like something solid and wonderful, and Louis can only cling to him, as though Harry is the oxygen he needs to breathe. “Talk to me,” Harry pleads, his hands shifting, as though they’re searching for the perfect placement, for that one spot that’ll reach Louis and calm him down, and Louis wants to tell him that it doesn’t matter where he holds him just as long as he promises not to let him go. </p>
<p>“I have to try.” He whispers, looking up at Harry, who cups his face and looks at him with concerned eyes. But Louis isn’t blind. He can see the spark behind the concern, he can see the hope that spreads like wildfire at his words. “Baby, I have to.”</p>
<p>Harry brushes his thumb over the bags underneath Louis’ eyes, small repeated movements until the tears are gone, and Louis wants to continue crying but he’s never been good at crying when someone’s looking at him, he’s always been a fixer and he wants to be that now more than anything. He wants to be Harry’s hero, no matter the cost. “You have to <em>what</em>, Lou?” He whispers, and Louis swallows.</p>
<p>“There’s a chance,” he tells him, quietly but quickly, and he wants to look away but Harry won’t let him, which means that Harry can read just how worried he is, just how scared, because he isn’t meant to do this, Shawn doesn’t want him doing this, and if Shawn - a <em>warlock</em> - is afraid, then how can Louis be brave enough to head into the lion’s den? </p>
<p>Harry’s eyes light up, but then dim. “But?” He whispers, and Louis closes his eyes for a moment, doesn’t think he can stand telling Harry and having to see just how much it hurts him. </p>
<p>He still opens his eyes just before telling him though, because there’s only one thing worse than having to look at Harry when he tells him and that’s shutting himself off for it, leaving Harry to deal with all of his emotions on his own. “Shawn doesn’t want me to go. He says it’s dangerous. He says - there might be a cost, that we’re not willing to pay. Something that we’d regret.” </p>
<p>He watches Harry intently, watches the emotions play out on his face, the way he swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing. “Oh.” Harry whispers again, and his fingers are now frozen on Louis’ face, at least, until Louis turns his head and presses a soft kiss to the palm of his hand. He unclenches then, sits back, but just enough that he doesn’t fall off. Even so, Louis rests a hand on the small of his back, to keep him from losing his balance. “What kind of cost?”</p>
<p>It’s telling that that’s his first question. That he doesn’t immediately shut down the possibility. Louis almost wants to smile at it. “I don’t know,” he says quietly. “There’s an Oracle, and Shawn thinks that he, or it, has the answers, but before I can find out, I’ll be tested. Shawn said, he said that people come back different sometimes.” He exhales shakily. “Or not at all.”</p>
<p>Harry’s eyes widen, then narrow, and his hands are tight on Louis’ face again. “You mean I might lose you?” He whispers, and Louis can practically taste the hurt in his voice, wants to shake his head but he can’t, because he promised himself he wouldn’t lie to him no matter how much part of him wants to take the easy way out. “Louis, you can’t seriously consider-”</p>
<p>Louis rests a hand on Harry’s, where it’s pressed against his cheek. “How can I not?” He counters softly. “After everything that has happened. I can see it in you, love. I can see just how much you want to be human. How much you want to be part of the world.” He can see Harry starting to part his lips, to counter his argument, and he shakes his head with a soft smile. “Don’t. I know you. I see you. I saw the hope in your eyes, when I said that there’s a chance.”</p>
<p>“But not at the cost of everything.” Harry manages, his voice so soft and so full of hurt that Louis just wants to take him away and wrap him up somewhere where the world will never get to them again. “Not at the cost of <em>you</em>.”</p>
<p>Louis swallows, brushing his fingertips over Harry’s knuckles. “I won’t if you really don’t want me to,” he says, because he knows that he has to respect Harry’s wishes. “If you tell me not to go, then I won’t. But - I’d feel bad, not trying. This could be the solution. This could be <em>it</em>, Haz. And somehow, giving up on that just because I’m scared, it doesn’t feel right.” He presses another kiss to Harry’s palm. “All those stories you read to me, those big mythological journeys, they were all about persevering. About determination and strength and not letting fear hold you back.” The transformations that had happened in those stories hadn’t come easy. They’d only been for the true of heart, for the ones that were willing to risk it all. A big risk would grant a big reward, and Louis knows that what they’re asking for is the biggest reward possible. A human life.</p>
<p>Harry just sits there, still on his lap, looking at him with an indecipherable expression. Louis lifts up his hand, gently carding it through Harry’s curls. “Now it’s your turn to talk to me love,” he encourages quietly. Harry ducks his head, his breath coming out shivery. </p>
<p>“I can’t lose you.” He says, and his voice sounds thick with unshed tears. It sounds pained, like he has to force the words out when part of him wants to hold them back. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair that that’s the cost.”</p>
<p>“If.” </p>
<p>“You heard what Shawn said. Sometimes people don’t come back. Or they come back different. What am I going to do, when you don’t come back? What if - if you don’t come back, then maybe it hasn’t worked, and I’ll still be stuck like this, but then I won’t even have you? And you’re going to be gone so I’m going to turn to stone and I just-” he breathes in shakily. “I know it’s better than the alternative. I know that if you don’t come back, I’m going to be relieved to turn to stone, because anything’s better than the guilt-”</p>
<p>Louis shakes his head. “Harry, <em>no</em>. If I don’t come back, then that’s not your fault. Nothing that happens is going to be your fault, okay? If I go, then that’s my choice. That’s what I’m willing to risk.”</p>
<p>“Why?” Harry’s voice has, if possible, gotten even quieter, and Louis has to struggle to hear him. He does though, and he gives him a soft, sheepish smile. </p>
<p>“Because I can’t think of a better purpose to my life than this,” he says, and when Harry just arches an eyebrow at him he can’t help but make a face. “I’m not saying I want to <em>sacrifice </em>myself for you, but, this all just feels so big. Beyond comprehension. I can’t help but think that that means something. I can’t help but believe that it will be okay. Because you deserve that. The world can’t be so cruel that it will condemn you to live life like this. And I can’t believe that it would be that cruel that it’d take me away from you, when that defeats the whole purpose of going.” He gives him a gentle smile. “But <em>if</em> it does, then I hope it will only do so after it’s helped you be human.”</p>
<p>“I don’t think I could stand the pain,” Harry whispers, and Louis can’t help but gently shrug a shoulder.</p>
<p>“That’s what being human is sometimes, love. We love people, we lose people. We deal with grief and we move on. That doesn’t mean that we forget, but we learn to live with it. If that’s the path fate has in store for us, then that’s the path we must walk down. But I honestly, truly, genuinely can’t believe that it will happen. Our story is too fantastical to end that way.”</p>
<p>Harry bites down on his lip, looking at him through his eyelashes. Louis feels this sudden rush of fondness, of something deeper that he can’t quite push down because this moment, it’s make or break. This moment is one where they decide just how much they’re willing to give up. He meant what he said. If Harry doesn’t want him to go, he won’t. But if he does - Louis tries not to think of the implications. Of that, no matter what he says about guilt and not wanting to live without him, Harry could ultimately be selfish enough to sacrifice him. If the tables were turned, Louis isn’t sure he’d be able to let him go, but at the same time, he doesn’t think Harry is <em>really </em>being selfish. Just hopeful, that it’ll all work out somehow, and Louis can’t blame him for that when he’s the one that’s constantly encouraged that hope in the first place.</p>
<p>“Are you sure?” Harry whispers, and Louis feels relief and fear squeeze at his heart in equal measures.</p>
<p>“No,” he says softly. “But I will do it anyway. You remember that movie we watched last night? Remember what the dad wrote to his daughter? About courage?”</p>
<p>Harry gives him a sad smile. “Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something is more important than fear.” He quotes, and Louis is in awe of how his brain works, how he can just recite that quote like he’s heard it a million times before. He smiles a little bit, and Harry’s voice grows softer. “The brave may not live forever but the cautious do not live at all.” </p>
<p>“Exactly.” He whispers, fitting his hands around Harry’s face and looking at him. “You make me brave, Harry. Brave enough to do this. Brave enough to see it through because I know that it’s going to be okay, as long as you’re here.” He gives him a sheepish looking smile. “You make me want to be the hero in this story.” </p>
<p>“You are.” Harry whispers back at him. “You don’t need to go to Greece to be my hero, Louis.” It’s almost desperate, but Louis can tell that he doesn’t fully mean it. </p>
<p>“But you want me to.” He says softly, meeting his eyes, trying to show him that that’s okay, that he doesn’t feel any resentment or ill will towards him for wanting it. “You want me to try.”</p>
<p>Harry breathes out shakily. “Yeah,” he admits, his voice so soft that Louis needs to strain his ears to hear his quiet confession. He looks at him, but Harry looks away at first, reluctantly meets his eyes when Louis presses gentle fingers to his cheek. It still takes him a moment to repeat himself, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, his voice trembling. “Yeah, I do.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’re fucking mental if you think I’m going to let you go.” Zayn is standing in the middle of the room, having jumped up sometime in the middle of Louis’ explanation, in favor of pacing around the limited space. His hands are balled into fists and there’s fury etched onto every line of his face. “No. Louis, I forbid it.”</p>
<p>Louis almost laughs at that, but then he doesn’t, because he can see it, in Zayn’s eyes. The worry. The fear that he will lose him. </p>
<p>“You get why I have to though, don’t you?” He says softly, and Zayn shakes his head, something wild and desperate, but his shoulders sag because as Louis’ best friend he knows better than anyone that there’s no talking him out of it once he’s made up his mind. </p>
<p>“You don’t though.” Zayn whispers, and there it is. The tears, filling up his eyes, fast enough for him to not be able to look away in time. It’s not that Zayn is uncomfortable with letting Louis see him cry but he’s exactly the type of person that would think he’s somehow blackmailing him by showing emotion. “Louis, you <em>don’t</em>.”</p>
<p>Louis gets up from the couch, knows that Zayn doesn’t like it when he stops him from pacing, but he can’t not wrap his arms around him, rubs his back until Zayn shudders and leans into him. “Then what would I do, love? Just give up?”</p>
<p>Zayn lets out this noise, tiny and frustrated and so afraid, and Louis holds him tighter, because in a way he’s soothing his own worries by comforting Zayn. “What if I lose you?” He whispers, his own arms coming up around Louis’ waist now, as he presses himself close. “What if - Lou, you can’t seriously think that this is the right thing to do. You can’t seriously think that Harry would want you to risk your life for him.”</p>
<p>“He wants to be human.” Louis says softly. “He deserves to be human.”</p>
<p>“It’s not about what he <em>deserves</em>, Lou.” Zayn pulls back just enough to look at him, his eyebrows furrowed. “It’s not - how can he encourage you to go, when he knows you might not come back? He’s a wanker, if he’s alright with that.”</p>
<p>There’s a small smile on Louis’ face, that makes Zayn frown even more, and Louis presses his lips to Zayn’s cheek, thinking himself so lucky for having a friend like Zayn. “He’s not a wanker. You know that.” </p>
<p>Zayn mumbles something incoherently, that might be a curse or two, though Louis isn’t quite sure it’s in English or not. It might be, but it’s too quiet to make out, a grumble more than anything. “No,” he says eventually, a little bit louder but not much. “He’s not a wanker. I know he’s not. He’s lovely, Lou. But that doesn’t mean that he’s right.”</p>
<p>Louis stops rubbing Zayn’s back, takes his hand instead, leading him back towards the couch even if Zayn is somewhat reluctant to sit down. “I told him I wouldn’t go if he didn’t want me to.” He says honestly, continuing to hold onto Zayn’s hand even when he’s sat down. “I also told him that I can’t believe that this is how the story will end. It <em>can’t</em> be, Z. After everything, we’re just supposed to give up? C’mon now. You know that’s not how stories end.”</p>
<p>“But this isn’t a <em>story</em>, Lou. You’re not the protagonist in some book, or imagined hero of a story. This is real life.” Zayn stresses. “Anything that happens to you is going to be real. And it’s going to happen to <em>us</em> too. Me, Liam. Your family. Losing you is not just going to be hard on Harry. It’s going to affect all of us, and you’re bloody selfish if you think-” he stops himself, takes a few harsh breaths. “Fuck.” Zayn whispers. “It’s no use. It’s no fucking use, because you’ve already made up your mind, and I’m supposed to just be okay with that, when I just want to tie you down to the bed and keep you from going.”</p>
<p>“Kinky.”</p>
<p>“Don’t.” Zayn’s eyes are hard, desperate, as he shakes his head. “Don’t make fun of this, Lou.”</p>
<p>Louis squeezes his hand. “Just trying to lighten the mood,” he whispers. “Z, I know, okay? It’s not like I haven’t thought about this.”
</p>
<p>Zayn looks at him. “Have you though? Have you <em>really</em>? What’s going to happen, if you don’t come back? What will happen to Harry? He’s going to turn back into stone and you’re both okay with taking that risk? How is being alive like this not better than that?”</p>
<p>Louis sighs softly. “I know it’s not logical, Z. I know that I shouldn’t, those things you’ve just said, they’re all things I’ve thought about ever since Shawn called three days ago. They’re all things I’ve talked about with Harry. And you’re right. It <em>is</em> risky. And this isn’t a story, and there’s no guaranteed happy ending, but, I would spend the rest of my life regretting it if I didn’t take that chance. I would spend the rest of my life feeling <em>guilty</em> over it.”</p>
<p>Zayn shakes his head again, biting down on his lip like he’s trying to hold back what he wants to say. His nostrils flare and his eyebrows furrow even more, but he is still holding Louis’ hand and he isn’t cussing him out or ending their friendship, so Louis knows that he understands, on some basic level at least. He might not want to understand, he might not respect his decision, but there’s this understanding between them. Zayn’s always been able to read him like no one else can. “Lou,” he whispers eventually, and Louis takes that as his cue to wrap him up in his arms again.</p>
<p>“I know.” He whispers, that fear that he’s been trying to keep from seeping into his veins wrapping slowly around his heart, suffocating him a little bit even when he’s pretending everything’s fine. “I know, Z. I’m scared too.”</p>
<p>“Then why-” Zayn starts, but he gives up before finishing his sentence, just lets out an aggravated huff, clinging to Louis a bit more as he does.</p>
<p>“You’d do it for Liam.” Louis whispers, and that gets a different reaction. Zayn pulls back, eyes widening and looking at him incredulously. Louis almost wants to avert his gaze. “What?” He mumbles, when Zayn just narrows his eyes again.</p>
<p>“Liam’s my <em>fiancé</em>,” Zayn says slowly, as though he thinks he’s talking to a child. Louis considers taking offense to it, but he’s too tired to do so, too stressed out from spending most of his nights worrying long after he’d gone to bed. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him, you’re right. But that’s not - you’re not - Harry is what? Your friend? Your roommate?” He pauses. “Fuck, Louis, do you have feelings for him still?” </p>
<p>Louis glances away. </p>
<p>“Jesus Christ.” Zayn lets go of his hand, gets back up off the couch to start pacing back and forth again. “Of course you do. Fucking hell, Lou.” </p>
<p>“It’s not like that,” Louis says, but it sounds feeble even to his own ears. “It’s - okay, yeah, there’s something there. Okay? I can’t just pretend that there isn’t. But this isn’t about that. It’s not, I’m not thinking that I’m going to get a fairytale ending here, I’m not <em>literally</em> Pygmalion, and that’s a good thing because he was a sexist pig, but, I swear, Z, it’s not about how I feel about him.”</p>
<p>“Would you do it for me?” Zayn pins him down with a look, and Louis can’t help but fidget a little bit, the intensity of Zayn’s scrutiny always just that side of too much to bear. </p>
<p>He swallows. “I wouldn’t be able to, because Liam would push me out of the way to get there first.” He jokes, and Zayn’s face goes blank for a moment before he marches over to him in two quick strides and punches him in the shoulder. It doesn’t hurt, because even in anger Zayn is careful with him, but Louis still winces.</p>
<p>“Stop making a joke out of everything, you fucking asshole.” Zayn mutters through gritted teeth, and for a moment he looks as though he’s about to punch Louis a second time. Louis reaches out, captures Zayn’s hand between both of his, before he can aim a second punch at his face. </p>
<p>“I would.” He whispers. “I’d do it for you. I’d do it for Liam. I’d do it for my mum, for anyone in my family. If something I do can help them, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”</p>
<p>Zayn’s composure crumbles, and he sinks back down on the couch, hands in front of his face because sometimes he’s like Louis and he wants to hide in his most vulnerable moments. Louis lets him, though he stays close, his hand hovering near Zayn’s shoulder just in case he wants some comfort. “I know.” Zayn chokes out. “I know, and I hate it, and I love <em>you</em>, and I’m just- I swear to God, Louis, if you end up dying on me, you best believe I will find some way to bring you back to life just so I can kick your ass.” </p>
<p>Louis takes that as his cue to reach out and gently ruffle Zayn’s hair. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.” He says softly. </p>
<p>Zayn lets out a miserable huffed laugh. “I love you.” He sounds as though he’s particularly annoyed at himself for it, and Louis wonders for a moment if he wishes that he didn’t, if it’d make it easier on him if Zayn didn’t have to care for him so much.</p>
<p>“I know.” He whispers, leaning in to press a kiss to his temple. “I love you too.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>It takes a week to set everything up. A week in which Louis knows that he should call his mother, let her know what was going on, but every time he thinks about it he puts it off, thinking there’ll be tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after. </p>
<p>He knows, realistically, that he should call, and he also knows that he won’t, because Zayn might not literally tie him down but his mother will drag him home by his ear and ground him even when he’s long moved out. There’s no one in the world that could stop him, except for his mum, and even though he thinks she would, on some level, understand, he also knows that it’s not worth the worry he’ll cause her.</p>
<p>Because everything is going to be fine. </p>
<p>He’s going to go to Greece and he’s going to meet with this Oracle, and he’s going to find out how to make Harry human, and everything is going to be fine.</p>
<p>Zayn, once he’d accepted that he wasn’t going to convince Louis to stay home, takes it upon himself to plan everything, giving Louis ample time to spend with Harry, and to talk to Liam about what should happen if he doesn’t return. Zayn doesn’t want to hear it, but Liam is prepared to hear him out, and even though he looks anything but happy at the conversation, they make arrangements for what will happen with Louis’ belongings - and with Harry - on the small off chance that he doesn’t return.</p>
<p>But he’s going to be fine. Because he’s not going alone this time. </p>
<p>Louis protests at first, when Zayn puts the airline ticket in front of him, but his best friend seems so determined, even before telling him “if you’re expecting me to let you put my best friend in mortal danger, the least you owe me is that you let me come along.”</p>
<p>So Zayn is coming, and Louis would be almost excited if it wasn’t for the fear that is still spreading through his body, the realization that everything he’s doing in the days before the flight might be for the last time. </p>
<p>Harry picks up on it, because Harry’s nothing if not insightful, and Louis can tell that he wants to tell him not to go, can tell that he’s just as scared and feeling guilty on top of it, but every time he opens his mouth to say something, Louis automatically finds himself smiling at him, and Harry never speaks up.</p>
<p>At least. Not until the very last night. They’ve booked an early morning flight, so Zayn is staying over, and he’s staying in Harry’s bed in the studio while Harry is staying with Louis in his bedroom. Harry’s on top of the covers, lying there, and even without any light Louis can tell that he’s looking at him. His gaze is so intense that Louis feels like it’s almost being burned into his skin, and while a part of him wants to reach out and touch him, there’s something almost more intimate about being face to face in the dark. </p>
<p>“Lou?” It’s soft, as though Harry thinks that he might’ve fallen asleep already. Louis almost smiles at that, because he doesn’t think he’ll sleep at all tonight, not when he wants to spend infinity in this moment, where it’s just him and Harry and there’s still hope buried underneath all that fear. </p>
<p>So he shifts, rubbing his face against the pillow because he can’t make himself reach out and touch Harry. “Hmm?”</p>
<p>He can hear Harry swallow, can hear the soft rustle of the sheets when he moves, though he doesn’t reach out to touch him either, like part of Louis had expected to. “Are you sure?” He whispers, and Louis feels his heart ache. </p>
<p>He promised him honesty, once upon a time, so even though Harry can’t see him he still finds himself looking at him, a small, tentative smile on his face. “No,” he says just as softly. “But I want to do it anyway.” He shifts, resting his head on his arm. “Have you changed your mind?”</p>
<p>Harry stays quiet for a moment. “No.” He whispers, voice thick. “I know that I should have. I know that it’s not fair to ask you to do this. But every time I tried, every time I thought about it, I couldn’t help but think of what you said, about being brave, and about how this isn’t how our story is supposed to go.” He lets out a soft sigh. “Every time I lose hope, I think of how much hope you have. Of how convinced you are that things will turn out okay. And that’s, I know that it might be naive of me, or, I don’t know, wrong, to just put my faith in that, because I think I want to believe it more than I maybe <em>actually </em>believe it, but, something stops me every time.”</p>
<p>Louis smiles a bit into the darkness. “It’s okay to be afraid.” He whispers, finally reaching out, finding Harry’s face. He tucks a curl behind his ear, then brushes his thumb over his skin, that feels so soft underneath his palm. “I’m afraid too.”</p>
<p>“Would you really not go, if I told you to?”</p>
<p>Louis makes a soft sound. “Honestly?” He cards his fingers through Harry’s hair, letting them tangle in the soft messy curls. “No. I don’t think there’s anything that could keep me from going at this point. Is that - were you worried about that? About not stopping me when part of you feels like you should?”</p>
<p>Harry shifts a bit, resting a hand on Louis’ side. “Are you just saying that so I won’t feel guilty if something goes wrong?” He whispers.</p>
<p>“Maybe.” Louis admits. “But also, no. Not really. I know that if you truly believed that you’d be alright like this, that maybe then I’d consider not going. But you want to be human, Harry. And that’s enough for me. Sure, part of the hope I have might be naive, might be that I just <em>want </em>it to turn out alright, but, you know what they say about making your dreams come true. It all starts with conviction, and affirmations. If I go into this thinking that it’ll turn out wrong- I don’t want to risk that. I need to believe that it’ll all turn out alright.”</p>
<p>“Will it help, if I believe that too?” Harry shifts again, a bit closer this time, and Louis finds his hand naturally drifting to Harry’s side, so he can pull him closer yet. “If I have faith for the both of us, will that bring you back safely?”</p>
<p>Louis can almost see his expression now if he squints. Harry’s looking up at him, worried and lost and young looking, scared but also trusting, placing this immense faith in him that Louis desperately wants to be worthy of. He brushes a kiss over Harry’s forehead. “If you have faith in me, there’s nothing I can’t do,” he whispers, and he’s surprised by how deeply he believes that, how there’s suddenly a lump in his throat and tears in his eyes. “Just have faith, and bring me home.”</p>
<p>Harry shifts a final time, close enough to brush a kiss over his jaw, almost catching the corner of his mouth. “I will.” He whispers fervently. “Wherever you go, I'll bring you home.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>To his surprise Louis falls asleep eventually, with Harry’s back pressed against his chest, his nose nestled in those soft curls and his arm around Harry’s middle. He wakes up still in the same position, something achy and soft in his heart when Harry makes the softest, sweetest noise at being woken up. “Haz,” he whispers, reaching for the alarm to turn it off only to realize that it isn’t what woke him up. It’s Zayn instead, standing in the doorway and looking at them with an indecipherable expression. Louis meets his eyes for a moment, shaking his head almost imperceptibly, and Zayn arches an eyebrow but leaves wordlessly.</p>
<p>The sleepy, relaxed way that Harry had been lying with him gets disrupted by sudden tension in his body, by Harry holding his breath before squirming to turn around in Louis’ arms so he can wrap his own tight around his body. “Louis.” His voice is thick, more than just the usual from after sleep, and the way he clings to Louis is telling even before he speaks. “Don’t go.” He whispers. “Stay. Stay here with me. Stay <em>safe</em>.”</p>
<p>Louis rubs his back, his lips landing somewhere in his hair, though he can tell that it’s not enough, that Harry is practically trembling with fear, so scared that he’s willing to sacrifice his own happiness if it means he gets to keep him safe. “I can’t, love,” he murmurs, and Harry shudders, his shirt getting a bit damp where Harry’s face is pressed against it. It’s almost tempting to let himself believe that this is enough. That the little bit of humanity that Harry had developed was going to be enough to tide him over, or that he’d somehow manage to find his own way to becoming human, even without Louis putting himself in danger. But he knows that it isn’t, knows that for all his tears, Harry’s instinct to keep him here is simply out of fear. “You don’t really want me to.”</p>
<p>“I do!” Harry’s voice sounds muffled, and he tries to press even closer, like breathing isn’t a necessity for Louis, like if he tries hard enough Harry can actually crawl inside of him and physically keep him from leaving. “I want you to stay.”</p>
<p>Louis smiles a bit, glad that Harry can’t see it and think that he’s making fun of him, because it couldn’t be further from the truth. He understands, where Harry is coming from. Knows that fear of doing something that you couldn’t ever undo. Knows that pit in your stomach, right before the plunge. He also knows that sometimes you just have to, even when you’re not a hundred percent sure of the consequences. “No you don’t,” he whispers, shifting enough so that he can look at Harry, brush away the tears on his face. “Look at me. It’s <em>okay</em>, Harry.”</p>
<p>Harry’s bottom lip wobbles and there are tears clinging to his eyelashes, but he’s looking up at Louis, something wild and terrified in his expression that Louis wishes he could soothe. “It’s not,” Harry whispers. “How can it be? How can I be so selfish?”</p>
<p>Louis does give him a small smile then, brushing his fingers through his hair and pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “You’re not.” He knows that Zayn had said the same thing, and if he’s honest with himself, the thought had crossed his mind, but he knows that Harry isn’t truly selfish. He knows that he’d never let Louis go if he hadn’t been told that it’d be okay. “It’s just fear, love. You’re scared, and that’s alright, but fear is - the fears we don’t face become our limits, and I’m not okay with that. You’re not selfish, because ultimately, Harry, this is my decision. Ultimately, the only person who can decide whether or not I’m going is <em>me</em>. Not you, not Zayn, not my mum.”</p>
<p>“But you’re doing it for me.” Harry whispers, and Louis holds him a little bit closer at that.</p>
<p>“It’s still my choice, Haz. Okay? Please believe me. Please believe that no matter what happens - and nothing is going to happen, okay, I’ve got Zayn with me and we both know he’s like, the smartest person alive, and he’d never let anything happen to me just like I’d never let anything happen to you - but even if something happened, even if I came back a little bit different, ultimately, it’s not your fault.” He swallows. “I don’t want you to feel guilty over this. I need you to have faith, remember? Like we said last night. You’re going to make sure I come home safe.”</p>
<p>It’s meant to be reassuring but instead Harry looks almost more panicked now than before, and in the light of the morning Louis can understand why that is. “What if I can’t? What if I mess up - oh God, what if my thoughts are going to make it so that something <em>does</em> happen?”</p>
<p>It’d be so much easier if Harry was a lover, Louis thinks absently. He’d be able to lean in and press his lips to his mouth, keep his worries from escalating by redirecting the fear and worry into something softer, more gentle. But Harry isn’t his lover and even if he were, forced kisses weren’t romantic, and they didn’t usually solve anything, just postponed it. So he just kisses his forehead again, looks at him. “It won’t. I won’t let it. Zayn won’t let it. And you won’t let it. Yeah, positive affirmations can help, but it’s not like you thinking bad thoughts will cause the world to go to shit. Honestly, darling, you don’t have that much of an effect on the world, and neither does anyone else. I promise, even if you think bad thoughts, even if you’re scared or hopeless, it won’t mean that you’ve put me in harm’s way, alright?” He brushes his thumb over his cheekbone, giving him another gentle smile. “The only reason I want you to focus on the good thoughts is because I want you to be alright, yeah? I don’t want you sitting here, working yourself up into a panic while I’m gone. Because I love Liam, and he’s going to do great at distracting you, but he’s also going to be absolutely no help when you’re panicking because he’s just as likely to sit and panic with you as he is to actually calm you down.” </p>
<p>He’s good with Zayn though, when Zayn is panicking, but that’s different somehow. Liam and Zayn make each other different. Louis thinks it might be the same with him and Harry, on some level at least. There’s just that extra mile that you’re willing to go, this sudden ability to do things that you didn’t think yourself capable of, when it comes to the ones you care about. </p>
<p>“Are you sure?” Harry whispers, and Louis doesn’t think he’s sure of much of anything in this world, but he knows that he can and will never let Harry down. So he nods, and holds him tight for another moment, wishing that they had time, but knowing that if he did, he might never leave this bed.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>The goodbye, an hour later, is tearful, and Louis hates having to leave Harry alone, even if he knows that Liam will be headed over in a few hours to check up on him and bring the car back that Zayn is using to drive them to the airport. It still doesn’t sit well with him, leaving him, because he can see that nervous energy in Harry that manifests itself in cleaning everything. He practically hovers next to Louis and Zayn while they force some toast down their throats, wiping away every crumb practically before it has hit the table. </p>
<p>Louis wraps his arms around him for a final hug, tells him to get some sleep, and Harry clings to him and nods but as Louis sits in the car a little while later - blissful silence because Zayn knows him better than anyone and he knows when to leave him to stew in his thoughts - he can’t help but wonder what Harry is doing now. He can just draw him out, in his mind’s eye, wandering around the apartment, looking for something to occupy him so he doesn’t start worrying too much.</p>
<p>Louis finds himself turning towards Zayn, who is wearing sunglasses despite the fact that it’s still dark out. “Do you think I’m making a mistake?” He asks, and he thinks that the way his voice comes out all small and timid is the only reason that Zayn takes a moment to answer him. He watches as his jaw twitches, imagines that his eyebrows are probably furrowed behind those dark glasses. </p>
<p>“Yes.” Zayn settles on eventually, before sighing. “And no. We both know that you’d never be able to let it go. I think even Harry knows that. He also thinks I hate him, which, I know it’s not fair to blame him for everything, but I can’t help but feeling a little resentful, now that we’re actually off on this trip that might kill you, so you better not say anything about that because I feel like I’m allowed to at least hate him a little bit.”</p>
<p>Louis fidgets with his sleeves, resists the urge to check his phone and maybe send a message to Harry. Instead he reaches forward to fiddle with the settings on the radio, until Zayn absently slaps his hand away. “And me?” He asks, settling back in his chair and resisting the urge to chew on his thumb nail. “Do you hate me?”</p>
<p>Zayn sighs again. “I frequently hate you,” he says, and Louis nods because that makes sense, but also, he knows Zayn doesn’t <em>really</em> mean it. They might drive one another up the wall sometimes, but there’s always this deep sense of understanding and belonging. “No, Lou, I don’t hate you. I hate that you think you’re responsible for fixing everything, and I hate that you dragged me into this-”</p>
<p>“You insisted on coming.” Louis interjects and Zayn gives him a look that Louis can decipher all too well, even with the sunglasses on and the short amount of time Zayn is actually staring at him before turning his attention back to the road. </p>
<p>“Don’t even.” Zayn says evenly. “You can’t expect me to be okay with my best friend just fucking off to Greece and getting himself into God knows what kind of trouble. I’m never going to let you do something as infinitely stupid as that on your own, because you <em>would</em> get yourself killed, and you’d probably manage to do it long before you got to the Oracle.”</p>
<p>Louis can’t help but snort, wants to reach out and ruffle Zayn’s hair, but he’s not sure it’s a great idea to distract the driver, even if the roads are empty. He’s relieved when he can see the start of a small smile teasing at the corner of Zayn’s lips. “I love you.” Louis says earnestly. “I know that I give you shit, and that I cause a lot of shit, but, I really fucking love you, Malik. I’m terrified, and yet somehow, having you here with me, I feel like everything’s going to be okay.”</p>
<p>Zayn lets out a grunt, something that’s half a laugh and half a sigh. “It better be. Because Liam’s going to kill me, if I don’t come back. He’s going to find a way to bring me back to life, just like I swore I would do to you, and he’s going to lecture me, which is far fucking worse than kicking my ass. He’s going to give me those puppy dog eyes and he’s going to tell me that he’s so <em>disappointed</em> in me, and I’m going to have to sit there and take it because he’d be absolutely right.”</p>
<p>Louis snickers. “You love him.” He tells him, feeling that warmth in his stomach at seeing his best friend so happy, because even though Zayn’s talking about the horrible conversation Liam will inflict upon him, he can tell that he’s speaking about him with such fondness.</p>
<p>“God help me,” Zayn sighs, as he turns into the airport parking lot. “I really fucking do.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>Time somehow moves at its own pace in an airport, and for a while, as they wait by the gate, it feels like everything’s slowed down into a syrupy thick consistency, where every minute somehow seems to take half an hour. But then it speeds up again, once boarding is announced, and by the time they’ve handed over their boarding passes and shown their passports to the flight attendants it feels as though half an hour has been jam packed into a minute instead.</p>
<p>It’s not until they’re in their seats in a less than half full aircraft that time goes back to its natural pace, where a minute is a minute and half an hour is half an hour. Which is unfortunate for Zayn, who has never been a good flier, and who is now forced to sit onto a plane for just a little under four hours. Louis can tell that he’s tense, even with Zayn looking stoically out of the window, and he finds himself reaching out to slip his fingers into Zayn’s hand, glad when he gets a small, yet somehow reassuring squeeze.</p>
<p>Zayn holds firmly onto his hand all the way through their ascent, and for a good while afterwards, until the <em>fasten seatbelt</em> sign comes off and stewardesses start moving about further up in the aisle. He seems to finally release a long held breath then, though he makes no move to take off his seatbelt or even move from his rigid position.</p>
<p>“You alright?” Louis murmurs, and Zayn sends him a weary sideways glance. He’s looking a bit pale, teeth marks visible on his bottom lip, and Louis wonders if he should thank him again for coming with, or if Zayn’s just going to roll his eyes and smack him upside the head with the on board flight magazine.</p>
<p>“I’ll get there.” Zayn eventually says, and Louis is relieved that he doesn’t look green at least, that he’s seemingly alright even if he’s tense. “Will be better if we just talk.”</p>
<p>Louis nods eagerly. “Sure. Yeah. Anything. What do you want to talk about?” He’s glad to distract Zayn, take his mind off of the flight. Not to mention, it’s four hours of sitting still, and Louis has never been too great at that. He’ll be glad to get his own mind distracted too.</p>
<p>Zayn debates on it for a moment, then gives him a slow smirk, one of those that lets on that Louis is about to be very uncomfortable, if Zayn has his way. And Zayn usually has his way, in one form or another. “Let’s talk about Harry.”</p>
<p>“Let’s not.” Louis parrots, but he knows that it’s futile, that with no escape for the next few hours (realistically, the next few days, because Louis can’t just dump Zayn at the airport and rent a car to drive to Delphi on his own, that’d be bad manners and Zayn would simply follow him anyway) he’s going to have to deal with this subject sooner or later. It’s just - why can’t it be later? </p>
<p>“That was some interesting shit I walked in on this morning,” Zayn comments, like he hasn’t heard Louis. Louis knows that he has, that he’s just electing to ignore him, and he wonders briefly if he could do the same, if he could pop in some headphones and shut out the outside world for a moment. But he’s never been that type, he’s always the one rising to the challenge - and Zayn <em>is</em> challenging him, even if he thinks he’s being subtle about it - something his best friend knows better than anyone.</p>
<p>So he bites. Of course he bites. “Hm?” He glances at him, then stares at the little tv embedded in the back of the seat in front of him, though it’s showing little else than their flight path for the moment. “What was?”</p>
<p>“You and Harry. In your bed.” Zayn hints, and Louis can’t resist another glance at him.</p>
<p>“Well, you took his.” He says, thinking that he probably sounds very reasonable, but Zayn’s smile seems to almost be mocking him.</p>
<p>“True.” Zayn nods, and for a moment Louis thinks he might be off the hook after all, but then Zayn turns towards him a bit more, looking relaxed now somehow, and Louis is glad for that but not when it comes at the expense of his comfort. “But there’s a difference between sharing a bed and spooning each other.”</p>
<p>Louis really shouldn’t bite. “You and I have spooned each other plenty of times.” </p>
<p>Zayn nods again. “That’s also true. But, correct me if I’m wrong, you’ve never nuzzled your face into my hair and stayed there. When you’d wake up to find that you’re spooning me, you’d scoot over and pretend that nothing happened. Even when I could feel your morning wood poking against my ass.” He has the audacity to chuckle, and Louis can’t help but glance around, hoping that no one is listening in on this particular conversation.</p>
<p>Luckily, no one seems to be staring at them in any weird way. Still. “Your point?” He hisses, and Zayn has the gall to chuckle again. “Or are you just being an asshole to distract yourself from the fact that we’re a billion feet up into the air?”</p>
<p>For a moment Zayn goes pale, but Louis doesn’t feel good about it, wishes he’d held his tongue because as much as he doesn’t like this conversation he doesn’t feel right in making his best friend feel like shit again. He sighs. “Sorry. That was rude. Listen. We’re safe, okay? We’re going to be alright, please don’t look at me like that.”</p>
<p>Luckily Zayn forgives him easily these days. Unluckily, he doesn’t drop the conversation. He does, however, give Louis a sort of pointed look, which is gentle in an odd way. “My point is, Lou, you clearly like him. But what’s more, I think he likes you too.”</p>
<p>Louis stares at him for a moment. Zayn’s face is neutral, like he knows exactly what Louis is trying to do - read the lie on his face. Search his eyes for the punchline. But it’s not there. Zayn’s serious, and Louis isn’t quite sure what to do with that information.</p>
<p>So he does what he always does. “I think the altitude is getting to you mate.” He teases, and Zayn frowns for a moment, but he doesn’t call him on it. There’s an almost sympathetic smile on his face, that Louis can just about see before Zayn turns to look at the screen in front of him, tapping at it with long, slender fingers. </p>
<p>It’s a strange way to end the conversation, and Louis would usually feel bad about it, would feel like the silence is dismissive or charged, but with Zayn he knows better. Zayn knows him, knows that when he jokes it’s not necessarily about keeping him out indefinitely, but about giving himself some time to mull things over when he’s found himself in a vulnerable position. Zayn, unlike Louis in most circumstances, has the patience to allow him that time. </p>
<p>Louis turns back to his screen too, aimlessly jabbing at the touch screen until he’s found a movie that’s suitably interesting to take his mind off of the conversation, without requiring too much focus. He pops his earbuds in, plugs them into the chair, tinny voices of the movie barely enough to drown out Zayn’s voice in his head.</p>
<p><em>I think he likes you too.</em> </p>
<p>He closes his eyes; and maybe there is a God, because mercifully, within minutes, he falls asleep.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>Zayn wakes him as they’re about to begin their descent, his fingers gripping onto Louis’ hand tight enough that his knuckles turn white. Louis takes out his earbuds, stuffing them haphazardly in his pocket before covering Zayn’s hand with his free one, letting him take strength from his grip. “Breathe,” he tells him softly, sucking in a breath of his own when the aircraft bobs in the air, jostling him slightly in the seat. “It’s okay.”</p>
<p>“I fucking hate flying.” Zayn grits out, looking actually a little green now, and Louis winces in sympathy. “Why’d I let you convince me to come along.” </p>
<p>Louis can’t help but snort softly at that. “As I recall, you wouldn’t take no for an answer.”</p>
<p>“Clearly I’m a fucking idiot.” </p>
<p>“Or a masochist.” Louis teases, but then the plane shakes again and Zayn just lets out this soft sound, almost a whimper though he’d never remark on that out loud lest Zayn kick him in the shins. “We’ll be down in a few minutes, yeah?”</p>
<p>Zayn nods, grim look still on his face, but he keeps breathing, keeps focusing his eyes on the screen in front of him. Louis brushes his fingertips over his knuckles, matches his breathing with him in an attempt to get Zayn to slow his down. It works, to a point, a bit of colour slowly returning to Zayn’s cheeks, though he still flinches when the wheels touch the tarmac. </p>
<p>“You’re not one of them people who applauds the pilot, are you?” Louis teases, as the plane starts to brake, and Zayn still has the wherewithal to send him a glare even as his free hand grips tightly onto the armrest. </p>
<p>“Fuck you.” Zayn says, but there’s no heat behind it. </p>
<p>Louis blows him a kiss. “Would love to, but Payno would kill me, and I think the Oracle has first dibs on that.” </p>
<p>“You’re such an asshole.” Zayn rolls his eyes at him, but he’s smiling a little bit, and Louis can’t resist the urge to smack a kiss against his cheek. “Ew. Germs.”</p>
<p>“I love you too.” Louis declares, flexing his fingers when Zayn’s finally released his hand, glad when the blood flow starts to come back, even when it makes his fingers tingle. “And you’re welcome, by the way.”</p>
<p>Zayn arches an eyebrow in the way that only he can. Looking haughty and questioning and perfect all at once. Louis thinks that if he didn’t love him so much he’d have to hate him on principle, just because Zayn is so incredibly beautiful. Louis wouldn’t go so far as to say <em>perfect</em> but only because he’s known him for long enough to know that that’s a far cry from the truth. Zayn’s anything but perfect. But that’s exactly why Louis loves him. Warts and all. “For what?” Zayn asks, and Louis gestures out the window, where things have finally come into focus now that the plane has stopped moving. </p>
<p>“For being the best possible friend in the world, of course,” he teases. “For bringing you along on a once in a lifetime trip.”</p>
<p>“I thought you said I made you.” </p>
<p>Louis shrugs a shoulder, unbuckling his seatbelt but not getting up yet, not wanting to be in the way when the few other passengers were probably more in a hurry than he was. “Semantics.” He insists, and Zayn just rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest. “C’mon then. Let’s see what Greece has to offer.”</p>
<p>His heart aches a little as he says it. He knows what he’s here for, but he also knows the risks that he’s taking. Not just with his own life, but also by potentially coming back only to reveal that he’s got no answers. He might be taking Harry’s last hope away, if the Oracle refuses to help. But he has to keep faith, if not for himself then for Harry, who is placing all his trust in him, trying to stay optimistic because it might increase his chances of bringing him home. </p>
<p>It’s a lot though, the pressure, and Zayn can tell that it’s getting to him, because as they get off the plane, both carrying only a small bag, he slides his fingers in between Louis’, giving them a squeeze. “Hey.” He says softly. “It’s going to be okay.”</p>
<p>Louis glances at him, but Zayn is looking straight ahead, though he’s aware Louis is looking, Louis can tell by the way the corner of his mouth curves up. “I thought you said this was a terrible idea and that I was going to get myself killed.” He says quietly, and Zayn just shrugs. </p>
<p>“I still think it’s a terrible idea,” he says, giving Louis’ hand another squeeze. “But we’re here now, and I’m not going to let you get killed. Who else would hold my hand and distract me while the plane’s landing.”</p>
<p>“Liam, probably.” Louis says logically, and Zayn laughs.</p>
<p>“Yeah, he probably would,” he agrees, and there’s that softness again in his voice, that clear love that’s there for anyone to hear. Louis can’t help but think back on Zayn’s words again. He might think that Harry likes him, but Louis knows that it’s not true, that Harry’s never once spoken to or about him the way that Zayn speaks about Liam. “But I’m just saying. Y’know. I’d kind of miss you if you were gone. Even when you’re an asshole. You’re <em>my</em> asshole.”</p>
<p>Louis arches an eyebrow, and Zayn laughs, elbows him in the side. “Shut up.” He grumbles, and Louis finds that dark pit in his stomach getting just that little bit smaller. </p>
<p>“Hey.” He says quietly, giving Zayn’s hand a squeeze of his own. “Thank you. I’m really glad you’re here.”</p>
<p>Zayn’s eyes grow soft, when he looks at him. “Of course,” he says, his voice the same sort of quiet, like he too can feel the weight of what they’re about to do. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”</p>
<p>Louis swallows, manages a smile. “Alright.” He says. “Let’s do this.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s just after one P.M. when they finally exit the airport, and Louis can feel the warmth of the sun creeping under his clothes. It’s not hot, by any means, but it’s a definite change from the weather back in England, and something about the sun and the warmth makes it a little easier to be hopeful. Though it might also be the airport food in his stomach, that had been overpriced but good enough to make up for it, or the fact that they’ve managed to rent a car that’s waiting for them just a short distance from the airport. </p>
<p>It’s nice to stretch his legs after being cooped up for so long, but where he’d usually take some time to himself, he finds he’d rather cross the distance to Delphi now, feeling like it might be good to get there as soon as he can. Especially since it’ll likely be a challenge to find the place where the Oracle resides, because even though they know that they have to head to the old site where Delphi once was (now a nice world heritage site), Louis figures that finding the Oracle isn’t going to be as easy as simply heading into what used to be a temple and expecting it to happen. </p>
<p>Shawn had been helpfully vague about it too, saying that Louis would just have to <em>feel it out</em>, that only the people who were worthy even got a chance to find the Oracle - and that wasn’t even the test, that was just a question of whether or not he’d be worthy enough to even get tested. So Louis isn’t expecting it to be easy and he’d rather get there as soon as possible so they have a bit of a chance before nightfall.</p>
<p>Zayn had rented a little room in the modern city of Delphi for them, less than a mile away from where the old city once was, and it’s that address that they plug into the navigation system now, getting ready for the two and a half hour drive. </p>
<p>Since Zayn had been the one to drive them to the airport this morning, Louis takes his turn behind the wheel now. He slides his sunglasses in place and drops their stuff into the backseat, glad to shed his jacket now that the weather’s a bit nicer. Zayn takes his place in the passenger seat, shoes off and feet propped up on the dashboard, and Louis would warn him that that’s not exactly safe, but he’s a careful driver, and Zayn looks as though he’s two seconds from falling asleep. </p>
<p>When he actually does fall asleep, a few minutes into their drive, it gives Louis ample time to deal with his own thoughts, his own nerves that creep up the closer he gets to Delphi. The drive is a beautiful one, and he finds his attention captured by the new environment even as his head is filled with thoughts, with worries that he can’t quite push down when there’s no one around to distract him. </p>
<p>He’d turn the radio on, find some station that’ll drown out the voices in his head, but Zayn’s fast asleep, and he doesn’t want to risk waking him, doesn’t want to bother him when he probably needs his rest. Louis has no idea what’s going to happen, how long he’s going to be gone if he gets to speak to the Oracle at all, and he knows that they’re going to have to be well rested if they have any chance of pulling this off. So one of them might as well sleep, and since Louis had slept a couple of hours on the plane, it’s now Zayn’s turn. </p>
<p>He stops about halfway through, parking the car in a small empty parking lot attached to the highway, glad to get out and stretch his legs for a bit. He’s smoked half a cigarette, leaned against the hood of the car, before Zayn climbs out to join him, shifting to lean against the car with sleep heavy eyes and his hair in disarray. </p>
<p>Louis wordlessly offers him a cigarette, and Zayn doesn’t hesitate to take it, his entire body relaxing a bit when he first inhales the smoke. It’s not until he’s taken a few drags, tapping the ashes down with one delicate finger, that he speaks up. “I quit smoking, you know.” He says softly, bringing the filter back to his lips. “A few months ago. Just after the engagement party.” He tilts his head back, blowing out the smoke and squeezing his eyes shut to cover them from the sun. </p>
<p>“I didn’t know.” Louis says quietly, taking a drag of his own cigarette, his bottom lip briefly getting stuck against the filter. </p>
<p>Zayn nods. “You’ve been kind of preoccupied.” He says, but there’s no judgment behind it. Louis watches as he stares at the cigarette, mesmerized by the fire eating away at the paper before he shakes himself out of it. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not a big thing.”</p>
<p>Louis hums. “Isn’t it? You’ve been smoking since, what, you were twelve?”</p>
<p>Zayn nods before he tilts his head, blowing out a perfect smoke circle, looking a little too pleased with himself when he still manages. “Thirteen.”</p>
<p>“Why’d you stop?”</p>
<p>“It’s stupid.” Zayn brings the filter to his lips again, takes a shorter drag this time, holding the smoke in his lungs. “I saw this documentary. And it just got me thinking. I don’t want to be fifty and dying of cancer. I don’t want to do that to Liam. Like, we want kids. What kind of dad would I be if I risked my life? What kind of an example am I setting? I dunno. It’s like. Suddenly, other things mattered more than smoking.”</p>
<p>Louis wonders if that means he should take the cigarette away from him. “That’s not stupid.” He says quietly. “I mean, I don’t think you could be a bad dad if you tried, and like, I don’t think anyone should be judged on smoking, because first of, it’s really fucking hard to quit, but also, it definitely helps when you’re anxious, but like. I get it. I get wanting to make sure you do it right, as much as you can.” He tips the ashes from his cigarette onto the ground. “Should I not let you smoke then?”</p>
<p>Zayn snorts. Somehow even that sound, coming from him, is attractive. “You’re going to risk your life and I don’t even know if I’m going to be able to help, or if I’m just going to have to sit there and wonder if you’re coming back. You’re leaving that pack of cigarettes with me, and I’m going to sit there and chain smoke all of them, because I need <em>something</em> to keep me from losing it.” </p>
<p>Louis swallows. “Alright.” He whispers, throwing the cigarette butt onto the ground and grinding his heel onto it to make sure it’s out, before picking it back up and throwing it in a nearby trash can. </p>
<p>“Hey.” Zayn mimics his actions, but he stops by Louis, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You know I’m proud of you, yeah?”</p>
<p>For some reason, those words bring tears to Louis’ eyes, but he can’t make himself glance away, even when he’s a little embarrassed. “Yeah?”</p>
<p>Zayn smiles a bit. “Yeah. I might give you shit about it, and I might be terrified, and there might even be a part of me that still wants to turn this car around and take you home, but. I know that you’re doing what you think is right. That’s - I know it’s a lame comparison, but - I just meant, with the smoking, I meant that I sort of get it. Sometimes things matter. Sometimes you have to put yourself second, because something else is more important than your comfort.” He shrugs one shoulder. “So, y’know. I get it. And, in the spirit of honesty and all that, anyone should be so lucky as to have someone like you in their life. The things you’ll risk for the people you care about- we’re truly lucky, you know.”</p>
<p>Louis bites his lip. “I-” he starts, but Zayn gives him a look.</p>
<p>“Don’t tease.” He whispers, and Louis shakes his head.</p>
<p>“I wasn’t gonna,” he says quietly, shifting to wrap Zayn in his arms, his face pressed against his shoulder. “I just wanted to say - I’m glad. I’m glad you’ve got Liam and I’m glad you quit smoking, and I’m really fucking glad that you’re here. That you understand why I’m doing this, and that I’m not like, disappointing you. I know I don’t always say it, I know that I joke around a lot, but, what you think matters to me. A lot. I never want to let you down.”</p>
<p>Zayn mutters something incomprehensible into his hair, but he sighs and wraps his arms around Louis in return, rubbing his back. “You don’t.” He whispers. “You’re never disappointing me, Lou. I might not always agree with your decisions, but, I’d have to be blind not to see that you’re doing what you do because of your giant ass heart.” He pauses, and Louis can just feel him grin into his hair. “I’d also have to be blind not to see your giant ass, but that’s a whole other conversation, and I feel that as an engaged man I should not be telling you those kinds of things.”</p>
<p>Louis snorts. “Now look who’s the one that’s teasing,” he murmurs, and Zayn squeezes his hip. </p>
<p>“C’mon. Let’s go, before I lose my nerve.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>Once they’ve dropped off all their stuff at the hotel, they change into something more suitable for hiking just in case they need to go a bit out of their way to get to wherever the Oracle is supposed to be. Louis makes sure to layer his clothes, charge his phone a bit and send Harry a quick text. He’d call, but he’s not sure that Harry won’t be so overcome with nerves that he’ll plead with Louis to come back, and he knows that he doesn’t want to do that to him. Or to himself, really, because there’s a large part of him that’s already bricking it, that needs the courage that comes from knowing Harry believes in him. </p>
<p>Luckily Zayn is by his side, stoic though Louis can tell that it’s a mask, that he’s just as scared and worried as Louis is. But Zayn also knows that there’s no changing Louis’ mind, <em>and</em> that he needs him to have faith, so even though there’s tension in his jaw and a desperation in his eyes, he walks besides Louis and doesn’t once tell him to stop.</p>
<p>They head over to the old village of Delphi, discovering some absolutely beautiful sights, but even though Louis finds himself excited to see them he has this gut feeling that there is no Oracle around here. He’s not sure what it’s based on though, if it’s logic that’s telling him it can’t be this easy, or if it’s something deeper, something more primal inside of him that’s starting to get in tune with the environment. Not wanting to blind himself to any possibility, he forces himself to walk through the site, finds that familiar desire to create sparking up in him, because there’s nothing that gets his creative juices flowing more than seeing areas where they’d fit in so well. The creatures from Mythology, from a time so long ago, that were revered or feared, but that existed - or at least were spoken about as though they did - in the timeline the buildings here were still standing tall, inhabiting people. </p>
<p>There’s little more than a few pillars left of the site of the old temple, but Louis still heads there; stands in the middle of what was once a circular room, trying desperately to feel something. <em>Anything</em>. He closes his eyes, throws his head back, attempting to listen but all he hears is the stones underneath Zayn’s feet as he walks around. </p>
<p>It aggravates him somehow, makes him want to tell him to stop moving about, but he knows that that’s not fair, that Zayn’s not doing anything wrong and it’s just his own desperate desire to move this journey along. </p>
<p>It all comes back to control, he realizes with a shaky inhale. Wanting to control the pace of the journey, wanting to control what happens and when. Wanting, needing, to be Harry’s saviour, because the alternative is unbearable. </p>
<p>His shoulders sag and he breathes out a sigh, something frustrated lingering just behind his temple. He rubs at his eyes, nearly flinching when a hand lands on his shoulder, though it’s only Zayn, he knows, can tell just from the warmth of him behind him. “Alright Lou?” Zayn murmurs, and Louis wonders if it’s that obvious that he sort of wants to cry. </p>
<p>“Can you give me a moment?” He barely turns to look at him, though he does meet his eyes for a brief second, sees something worried but understanding in Zayn’s expression. He nods, squeezes Louis’ shoulder for a brief moment. </p>
<p>“I’ll be near.” He tells him, and Louis smiles gratefully. </p>
<p>Zayn leaves him to his own devices, and Louis finds himself sitting down on one of the stone slabs that used to be part of the temple, wondering if he should find it odd that the place seems absolutely deserted today. He’d figure that this place was an absolute hotspot for visitors, especially with the weather being quite nice for the time of year, but there’s no one around, giving the place an almost eerie vibe. </p>
<p>He crosses his legs, folds his hands in his lap, eyes closing again as he tries to muster up the courage to ask for guidance, to ask that some lingering spirit, if those even exist, will lead him towards where he needs to go. It makes him feel kind of stupid, sitting here with his eyes closed, and it also makes him feel sort of impatient when nothing immediately happens, but there’s this feeling inside of him, something that might be instinct or might just be hope, that tells him to stay put. So he shakes out his limbs, settles back in his position, and allows himself to get caught up in his breathing.</p>
<p>In and out. Slow and steady. The air tastes crisp on his tongue, tickles when it rushes past the hairs in his nose. </p>
<p>Suddenly, it’s like everything sort of falls away. He no longer notices the small rock jabbing into his knee, or the fact that his hiking boots are stiff and uncomfortable, hurting a bit where he’s resting on them. He doesn’t notice how the wind picks up, plays with his hair as though it’s ruffling it up. He barely even notices that he’s breathing. It’s not as though he’s lost in thought, it’s as though thoughts are lost in him. As though time has stopped and is infinite at the same time, and all he needs to do is exist, without making an effort.</p>
<p>He briefly feels something strangely calm and settled inside of him as he finally opens his eyes, and when he breathes in it’s like the air is just a little bit more fresh, a little bit sweeter. </p>
<p>“C’mon,” he tells Zayn, who he knows is nearby even if he hasn’t turned around to look for him. “I know where we need to go.”</p>
<p>Zayn catches up with him easily, giving Louis a thoughtful look but not saying anything, and for a minute or so, the only sound is the stones crunching underneath their feet. Louis finds himself nervously fingering the strap on his backpack as they walk, even though he’s not really nervous. It’s like there’s this energy inside of him now that almost feels like it doesn’t belong to him, it’s guiding him, guiding his steps, and he goes even when he doesn’t know where it is that he’s headed towards. </p>
<p>“That was strange,” Zayn eventually notes, and Louis just gives him a small smile. “You’re acting strange.”</p>
<p>Louis can’t help the little spark of impatience that those words bring up, the implication that lies just behind them. Zayn probably doesn’t even mean for it to come across a certain way, there’s no heat or intention behind it, but Louis still can’t help but feel a little annoyed, because it’s almost as though Zayn is begging for him to examine this drive that he suddenly feels inside, and he finds that he can’t, for some reason. Won’t, because the moment he starts thinking about why this is happening and how it’s a little outside the realm of possibility, he feels like he might lose his grasp on it.</p>
<p>“Zayn.” He says, and he’s glad when the impatience doesn’t colour his tone. “Trust me.” He finds himself reaching out for him despite the little thrill of irritation, gently brushes the back of his hand against Zayn’s in an effort to soothe his worries even when part of him wants to tell him to leave if he’s so worried, to let him go and follow this instinct on his own. He doesn’t say that. He just looks at him, little lopsided smile, and says “I know where I need to go. I need you to trust me.” </p>
<p>It’s clear, when Zayn looks at him, that he has picked up on what has gone unsaid. He doesn’t say anything though, just gives him a look, his shoulders sagging a bit and the frown on his face deepening. But he nods, pulling his own backpack up a little higher on his shoulders. “Alright.” He says softly. “I will. I do. If this is some sort of trick, if the Oracle’s trying to separate us, then, I can tell you right now, he better learn what it’s like to not get his way.”</p>
<p>Louis snorts, but he can’t deny that there’s a warmth in his chest, this odd sensation that tangles with the desire to abandon all reason and go alone. “Good.” He says, despite the conflicting feelings inside of him, none of which feel real or quite his. “Because I need you here.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>They’ve walked for about fifteen minutes when Louis finds himself suddenly stopping in his tracks, Zayn nearly crashing into his back. He ignores the muttered curses that are directed at him, and just reaches for Zayn’s wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s here,” he says, and he knows that it’s true even when he doesn’t see anything, even when where they are is almost exactly the same as every other area they’ve come across on their walk.</p>
<p>Zayn looks doubtful, arching an eyebrow, and Louis simply shrugs a shoulder. “I don’t know,” he says, in answer to Zayn’s unspoken question. “I know it’s here though.” There’s no clearing, no immediate indication as to where they are or what makes this place special, but he knows with full certainty that he’s where he’s supposed to be.</p>
<p>The nervous energy that had overtaken him is gone, and in its place is something that isn’t quite peace, but that feels calmer somehow. It leaves room for his fear, though, and he finds himself reaching out for Zayn, his fingers suddenly clammy when he holds onto his hand. “Don’t leave me, okay?” He finds himself whispering. “Whatever happens, don’t leave me. I don’t know what will happen, but, I need you to be my anchor.” </p>
<p>Zayn gives him a tightlipped smile, nods as he puts his backpack down, feeling around one of the smaller pockets on the front until he pulls something out. “I figure this is a good time to give you this then,” he tells him, handing a small box to Louis. “Happy birthday.”</p>
<p>Louis frowns. “It’s not my birthday for a few months,” he says, but he doesn’t wait for Zayn to tell him that he might not make it to his next birthday, prefers for that to go unsaid. Instead he opens up the box, prompted by both the desire to ignore that particular part of the conversation and his natural curiosity. In it, quite unpresuming, lies a leather necklace with a small charm. He glances back up at Zayn. “What’s this?”</p>
<p>Zayn smiles. “Liam and Harry helped me pick it out, when you were in Paris.” He stands near Louis, hand resting casually on his shoulder. “It’s a protection charm. It has our initials on the back. It was Harry’s idea. He worries about you when you’re away from him, just like I know you worry about him.” </p>
<p>The warmth in Louis’ stomach turns into a blaze, and he finds himself reaching out for the charm, fingering the leather strap. “Put it on me?” He can’t make his voice go louder than a whisper, but Zayn’s close enough to hear him, picks up the necklace and moves to put it around Louis’ neck.</p>
<p>Louis shivers, when the cold metal first touches his sternum, but there’s something oddly soothing about the weight of the charm against his skin. “Thank you,” he murmurs, when Zayn’s tied the string around his neck, his fingers briefly brushing through Louis’ hair in a soothing motion. </p>
<p>“You’re welcome.” Zayn gives him a small smile, something still tight but definitely warm. “I’ll be your anchor out here. But if you need me, if you need strength, then, well. It may be silly, but, maybe having that with you will let you draw on our strength too.” His fingers dig into Louis’ shoulder as he grips it tightly, brings him in for an almost bruising hug. “You come back to us, yeah? I have a feeling that I can’t go with you any further. I don’t know what it is, but there’s this … tension. Like there’s this voice in my head, screaming at me to turn around, and it’s not the same voice I’ve had in my head this entire trip, this is something new.” He swallows. “Or, well. Old.”</p>
<p>Louis nods, sinking gratefully into Zayn’s hug. “I know.” He murmurs. “It’s like, from the moment we got into Delphi, it’s been trying to get me alone.” He’s not sure how he knows that, but the moment he says it he can tell that it’s true. A shiver runs down his spine, something cold but somehow he’s not scared. “I think it’s going to be okay though,” he says softly. “I think, whatever it is, if it’s the Oracle, then, he must be okay with me going to see him.” He pulls back just enough to press a kiss to Zayn’s cheek. “I’ll come back.”</p>
<p>Zayn swallows, presses an almost desperate kiss to Louis’ forehead. “Please.” He whispers. He seems reluctant to let go, his fingers still tight on his skin for at least the next five minutes, which they spend in silence, just holding onto one another. Louis doesn’t say it, but he thinks he might need the hug just as much as Zayn does.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>It’s weird. </p>
<p>One minute, Louis is in the forest with Zayn; it’s late in the afternoon, but there’ll be sunlight for a while yet - which Louis is grateful for because he has no idea how long this will take and he doesn’t want to leave Zayn alone for the night - and the next moment-</p>
<p>He’s not sure <em>where </em>he is. He’s not sure if he’s not in the same exact spot as before, but something about it feels different. </p>
<p>He can’t really see anything around him, everything is dark and <em>heavy</em>, and Louis finds himself struggling to breathe. His fingers automatically reach for the charm around his neck, and he’s relieved to find that that’s still there, that it’s solid underneath his touch because everything else just seems to be weightless. Even his clothes, that he should be feeling - that he knows are still there because he can look down at himself and squint to see it - don’t cling to his body like before. It’s like he’s existing in some sort of vacuum, like he’s naked in the dark, and he can’t help but feel <em>terrified</em>.</p>
<p>This darkness, weightlessness, somehow presses onto all of his senses, filling his brain until he’s lost, every synapse firing and adding to the breathless terror that fills him from within. He thinks he might be crying, but tears don’t make it down his cheeks, adding to this sensation that he is nothing. Nothing except for pure fear and despair.</p>
<p>Just as quickly as it had come on, it vanishes. It’s like he crashes down from the sky, ends up on his back, gasping, as everything around him is light. He still feels as though he’s floating, but it’s different now, as though he’s on clouds, or in a warm bath. There’s warmth, and a sense of belonging, and when he closes his eyes, images come to him easily. Snapshots of every happy moment of his life.</p>
<p>His youngest siblings being born.</p>
<p>Zayn, meeting Liam.</p>
<p>His mum, looking so proud at his graduation.</p>
<p>Harry, sitting on the couch with him, laughing at something he’s said. His head thrown back, curls looking wild, and Louis sitting next to him, unable to look away. </p>
<p>And then the images are gone, ripped away before he can protest. There’s barely a moment for him to catch his breath, to prepare himself, because as the light changes, from bright and warm to something thick and wet, to something <em>red</em>, his senses are overtaken by a blinding, searing pain.</p>
<p>It burrows underneath his clothes, permeates every cell of his body, making it a struggle to even breathe because the oxygen feels as though it’s burning all the way down into his lungs.</p>
<p>Louis reaches for his chest, fingers trembling as they attempt to pull away the constricting clothes, as though it’ll help him breathe, but his fingers come back bloody, slippery with blood and suddenly the faint metallic scent makes sense, because it’s all around him, covering him, spilling out of him from the slashes that are appearing all over his body.</p>
<p>He tries to scream, but no sound makes it past his lips, because there’s this pain inside of his brain that knocks the wind out of him, something so visceral and incapacitating that he barely manages to keep his eyes open even when fear whispers at him that closing them would be a bad idea, that there’s something coming at him from just outside of his line of vision.</p>
<p>It’s too much, he realizes, desperation making way for something closer to despair, and he finds himself curling up on the floor, even when he can’t see it beneath his feet. He’s lying down on something but it’s not forest underneath him, it’s something cold and hot at the same time. There’s a fire that’s burning him up and eating him alive, and any tears he could’ve cried dry up before they’ve even formed. </p>
<p><em>This is it</em>, Louis thinks, hopelessness enveloping him, and it’s almost enough to resign to it, the promise that it will all be over. He just wants it to stop.</p>
<p>The thought has barely formed in his head before it <em>does</em> stop, or at least backs off a little bit, and Louis finds himself gathering the last of his strength to manage to sit up, his arms curled around his legs and this sob in his throat that threatens to break him. </p>
<p>He can’t do this. He’s not strong enough. He’s not - it hurts too much, and he’s lost, and scared, and <em>alone</em>.</p>
<p>He’s so alone, and when he reaches out to touch the charm around his neck he’s not even surprised to find it disappearing, melting underneath his touch because the fire is inside of him now, burning him up from the inside. “I can’t,” he whispers, and this time there is sound to his voice, this time it echoes all around him, repeating it back to him in a mocking voice. </p>
<p>Louis closes his eyes, pressing his hands to his ears to escape from his voice, that’s morphed from whispering <em>I can’t</em> to something else, something he’s heard in his nightmares and, if he’s honest, for years before that. <em>Your fault. </em>It’s in his own voice too, because they are his own words, his own thoughts, the ones he’s always struggled with, whenever things spiraled out of control and he’d managed to hurt someone. His own voice mocks him now and he can’t do anything but listen: <em>your fault.</em></p>
<p>He sobs, screams “I’m sorry!” into the void but the words don’t change; there’s just a never ending loop of <em>your fault</em> all around him, filling up his senses and entering every orifice as though his words are bees, making him swallow and choke on his guilt.</p>
<p>He can’t breathe. He can’t <em>breathe</em> and he was <em>wrong</em>, he can’t do this and he’s going to <em>die</em>, he’s going to leave Harry to fend for himself and he’s going to die too, and the voices are right, his worst fears were right, this <em>is</em> all his fault. </p>
<p>There’s a warmth coming at him, and he thinks that this is it. This is the last thing he’ll remember, the last flame that’ll lick at his skin and consume him, and he doesn’t have strength left to fight it. He can’t fight what feels inevitable, so Louis closes his eyes and waits for it.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>The warmth doesn’t engulf him the way flames would. Instead it wraps around him like a comforting embrace, something soft and simple and soothing, something that makes him feel like there’s a small pocket of air that he can breathe from, to help him catch his breath in the midst of all this turmoil. </p>
<p>It spreads through his body too; from the point at his chest where his charm used to be, it buries itself deep inside of his body and spreads through his veins. It spreads through every cell, replacing the fire and soothing the pain like a balsam, until there’s suddenly this calm understanding, this deep renewed sense of strength and conviction.</p>
<p>Louis finds himself almost helped up his feet, nudged ahead, and even though he stumbles along blindly, he knows that he’s going where he needs to go. He knows, now, that he’s going to be alright. </p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>Soon enough, the red dims, and when Louis can see his surroundings he’s surprised to find a young looking girl sitting on a rock near the water. Her fingers are moving through the water, leaving little ripples, and she’s wearing a white dress, long blonde hair falling over one shoulder. </p>
<p>She doesn’t look up as he approaches her, but Louis can still hear her speak. It takes him a moment to realize that the voice is in his head, rather than coming directly from her.</p>
<p>“Welcome, wanderer,” her voice calls, and there’s something unsettling about it, something old that doesn’t fit such a young appearance. The girl, because she is not yet a woman, might be as young as Daisy or Phoebe, keeps moving her fingers through the water, flicking them to and fro, the ripples almost mesmerizing when he moves to sit down next to her. </p>
<p>“Who are you?” He whispers, his voice hoarse, and he wonders if he really did scream, if all the sounds he hadn’t been able to hear coming from his own mouth had been there after all.</p>
<p>The girl doesn’t look up. “You know who I am.” The voice calls, and Louis swallows.</p>
<p>“You’re the Oracle.” He whispers. He’s glad to be sitting down now, his knees feeling as though they’re about to buckle. “I made it through the test?”</p>
<p>Those words do prompt her to look up, and Louis flinches a bit, because her eyes are white and there’s nothing where her mouth should be. But still, despite her appearance, there’s something calming about her, something almost beautiful. “You’ve got a strong heart.” Her voice speaks directly into his brain. “Willpower. You can handle despair. You are a fighter.” She looks away again, and Louis follows her gaze, finds that his necklace is dangling from between her fingers. “It wouldn’t have been enough. You would’ve come here and failed.”</p>
<p>“Would have?” Louis whispers, and the girl turns towards him once more. Louis has the distinct impression that she can see him even through the milky appearance of her eyes.</p>
<p>“Your friend. He is strong too. His love rivals your own. When you were in pain, he was willing to share it with you. When you were unable to handle it on your own, he was there.” She tilts her head, and Louis has the inane thought that if she’d have had a mouth she’d be smiling right now. “Your friend is the reason you are here.” She nods in understanding. “But he is not the reason that you came.”</p>
<p>Louis swallows, his mind reeling, and for some reason the first question on the forefront of his mind is whether or not he can have his necklace back. He doesn’t voice it, but he finds that he doesn’t have to, the girl reaching out towards him and pressing the necklace into his hands. Her hand is cold, clammy, even though it’s not the one that's been creating ripples in the water. “He’s not.” He agrees, fastening the necklace around his neck with shaking fingers. </p>
<p>“You have a question.” The Oracle says. “Ask it.”</p>
<p>Louis’ heart is beating so fast that he fears for a moment that he might pass out. The tension is back too, the fear that if he doesn’t phrase it right, he’ll lose his chance forever. He finds himself parting his lips, but no sound comes out. </p>
<p>Instead he hears a chuckle, something soft that’s old and young at the same time. “I know your question. I can hear it in your head. I can hear all your thoughts, and your fears. You want to know if it’s possible. You want to know <em>how</em>. You’re not sure, even now, if I’ll tell you.” The voice is almost sing-song, but somehow it doesn’t sound mocking. It still terrifies Louis, but it’s an almost abstract fear, something that he feels but doesn’t <em>feel</em>. “I will tell you. You’ve passed my tests. You’ve earned it, Louis.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t tell you my name,” Louis whispers feebly, and the Oracle chuckles, fixes him with another of those blank looks.</p>
<p>“I knew you were coming. I knew it before you did. I could tell, from the water, from the ripples that you’ve created, what was coming to pass, even before you set things in motion.” The girl takes her hand out of the water, and somehow Louis isn’t even surprised to see that it’s an old and weathered hand, looking so different compared to the rest of her appearance. “It’s my calling, to pay attention to the magic in the world.”</p>
<p>Louis frowns. “But Shawn said-”</p>
<p>“And he was right. There was no magic in you.” The Oracle gives him another one of those looks that makes Louis swear that she’s smiling. “But that didn’t mean that magic wasn’t there that night. It just wasn’t yours that was drawn upon.”</p>
<p>It takes him a moment. “Harry?” He whispers, something in his stomach clenching, though he’s not sure it’s unpleasant. </p>
<p>“His yearning to come to life was so strong that all it took was a spark. Your magic was in creating him, in the ability you’ve always had to bring shape and life to marble. But his yearning preceded yours. It was in him from the moment he was lifted from the quarry.” She looks at him, something akin to understanding in those white eyes. “Do you understand what this means?”</p>
<p>Louis isn’t too sure that he does. But he hazards a guess, even if the words still feel foreign and somewhat unpleasant on his tongue. “It means, it wasn’t my fault?” He whispers, finding that his first instinct is to push against those words, discard them even though they’re coming from someone who supposedly knows things before they even happen.</p>
<p>“It played out how it was supposed to. You were simply the conduit.” She answers, and Louis can’t help frowning again at those words.</p>
<p>
“But then why isn’t he human?” He asks her, watches as she goes back to moving her hand through the water. He wonders if those ripples mean something, if they’re a way for her to read what’s happening in the world, or if she’s using the ripples to set things in motion. It all feels surreal to even be thinking about, but the part of his brain that wants to desperately cling to some logic has been silenced by the sheer absurdity of the situation. He’s got no choice but to simply accept that this is what’s going on, and hope that it’ll bring him the answers he needs. “If I was only the conduit, if he was always meant to come to life, then why isn’t he human?” He swallows. “Why does he need me?”</p>
<p>She pins him down with a look. “Because you need him.” </p>
<p>Louis can feel his face growing hot, pushes down the instinct to deny her words even though she’d said she could hear everything that was in his head. “Should I not?” He whispers, swallowing around the words. “I tried. I tried to not need him, but then Zayn said - he was turning back into a statue. That’s not, how is that fair? I’m not supposed to need him but he needs me?” He looks at her, a pleading expression on his face that he can tell doesn’t move her in the slightest. </p>
<p>“It’s not a wrong thing to need people, Louis.” Somehow, in her saying that, her voice almost resembles his mum’s for a moment, or would if his mum was in a cave in Greece and somehow sounded like she was older than time. But there’s something comforting in it, in the familiar tone, and Louis can’t help but feel a little bit of the tension in his body melting away, even when confusion is eager to take its place. “It’s not wrong to need Harry.” The Oracle continues, and Louis’ frown deepens. </p>
<p>“How can it not be, if needing him is what makes him need me? How is that - I thought he had free will. It’s important that he does. I can’t - it’s not right, if he’s just feeling things because I made him.” </p>
<p>The Oracle shakes her head. “You misunderstand me.” She says gently, and Louis wishes that he did, but there’s this pit in his stomach that he hasn’t felt in weeks, since Harry had returned and chosen to live life for himself. “Harry does not need you the way that you need him. His need is physical. He needs to be around you to stay alive, because you are his creator.” She gives him a look. “He has always desired to exist. But when you created him, when you infused him with all those emotions, his true nature got lost for a while. It morphed into a desire to exist for <em>you</em>. It wasn’t until he came back to himself that he realized that desire had been there long before you had called it out in him. When he chose to live life for himself, something changed within him. Something made him more human. In time, this will be enough for him to exist on his own. The more he falls in love with life, the stronger his desire to be part of it, the less he will end up needing you.”</p>
<p>“So that’s it?” Louis whispers. “He just has to fall in love with life, and that will make him human?”</p>
<p>“No.” For an Oracle, she’s thankfully not speaking in riddles, and Louis finds himself grateful for it, even though her answer is hard for him to hear. “Between the love you instilled in him when you created him, and his decision to remain alive, it’s enough to sustain him, but it’s not enough to turn him human. A gift like that requires a greater sacrifice.”</p>
<p>Louis swallows. He thinks he knows where this is going. “I’m going to have to stop needing him?”</p>
<p>There’s a light sound, almost a chuckle, not in his head but around him, like a breeze that’s ruffling through his hair. “If things progress as they are forewritten, Harry will become human. But it’s not easy.” Her voice sounds stronger now, and Louis can feel this pressure behind his eyes, as though her voice is not just filling his head, it’s filling every cell in his brain with her conviction. “Once Harry owns a heart that isn’t his he will live out the rest of his life in human days.”</p>
<p>“Are you-” Louis swallows. “Are we talking about love here, or murder? Because I’m not sure that Harry’s willing to murder someone to get a heart of his own.” He knows it’s bad timing to make a joke, but then he’s not sure he’s even really joking. It would be somewhat poetic, even if it’s gruesome, to have the solution be a real human heart.</p>
<p>The Oracle continues as though she’s unphased by his question, as though she hasn’t even picked up on the slight joking timbre to his voice. “You don’t need to stop needing him. You need to stop resisting the fact that you do.” Her white eyes seem to bore straight into Louis’ soul. “Once you accept that your feelings aren’t yours to control.” She pauses. “But it doesn’t have to be you. It might not be you. Once Harry is loved, without inhibition or reservation. Without expectations. Once that happens, when Harry is willingly given a heart without anything being demanded in return, he will be human.”</p>
<p>Louis can feel his heart beating in his chest. He can feel every cell of his entire being, as though every single one of them is on fire again and he’s burning, has maybe been burning for a long time without even noticing it. “But you said.” He whispers. “Harry doesn’t need me the way that I need him. He doesn’t love me.” </p>
<p>This time the Oracle’s expression isn’t gentle, or understanding. It’s filled with something that most closely resembles pity.  “Whether or not he does is not up to you. And should have no bearing on your feelings. That’s what you’ve yet to come to understand. You think love creates expectations. You think you can control love like you can control everything else in your life. But just look at where you are. Look at where life has taken you, and what it has cost you. If you had come here alone, you would have perished. You can’t control life.” She gestures towards the water, towards the ripples she’s creating. “Every ripple is different. Even when I make the same movement over and over. Water doesn’t bend to my will. Why would life be any different?”</p>
<p>Something in her words, in the tone of her voice, is humbling, and Louis finds himself blushing, ducking his head to look at the ground. “But I care about him,” he whispers, wishing that his voice were stronger, wishing that he would have the strength to look up at her. “How is that not enough? I tried not to care about him but I do. I came here, I was willing to sacrifice myself for him - how can you say that all I need to do is love him, and then that love isn’t enough?”</p>
<p>There’s another light chuckle, and something in Louis’ chest aches, at the verge of splitting open though he’s been trying so hard to keep it from happening. “Dying for someone, giving them your past and present, is not the same as giving them your future. You haven’t given him your heart. You’ve given him everything else, but your heart has never belonged to anyone but yourself.” For a brief moment, when Louis looks up at those words, he can see something in the milky white of the Oracle’s eyes, a flash of green before it’s gone again. “You care. You care so much, about everyone. But you’ve never trusted anyone with your heart. In the end, you are always alone.” She gestures around herself. “Your friend, who came with you. He understands. He knows that giving your heart away hurts, but he is willing to risk it. He came here, even when he knew he might lose you. He loved you even when it was painful to do so.”</p>
<p>Louis bites down on his bottom lip, watches as she turns away from him, as though she’s dismissing him from the conversation. He swallows down the questions he still has, the fear and worry that he can’t put into words. Instead he whispers “thank you” because he figures he should be polite, even when her words leave him feeling a little bit desolate. </p>
<p>Harry needs someone to love him. Someone to care for him, the way that Louis is apparently incapable of. It hurts, knowing that. Knowing that in the end, his destiny is to lose him. </p>
<p>Because he does care about Harry, even if it’s not enough. And even if it were, even if he could somehow give his heart to him, Harry doesn’t care about him the same way. Louis still won’t get to hold onto him, will get his heart broken instead. </p>
<p>It’s painful to have to acknowledge it, but, he tries reminding himself, at least he got the answer he was looking for. There is a solution. There is a way for Harry to turn human.</p>
<p>So, he supposes, at least one of them will have their happy ending.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Louis is shocked to see that it’s still light out when he gets back from wherever it is he just went. If he even went anywhere, which he isn’t sure about if he’s honest, because one second he’s in the cave, thanking the Oracle, and the next he’s standing right where he’d left Zayn behind an indefinite amount of time ago. The lightfall is still the same, making him think that virtually no time has passed at all, and yet when he sees Zayn’s face, when he sees the emotions on his face, the explosion of joy and fear at spotting Louis, he has the distinct impression that it might’ve been days.</p>
<p>He barely manages more than a step towards him before Zayn rushes at him, wrapping his arms around him tighter than he’s ever done. His lips are almost bruising against Louis’ forehead and something about the way he clings to him causes tears to well up in Louis’ eyes. </p>
<p>His arms feel weary and fatigued when he wraps them around Zayn’s middle in return, his entire body sagging under the weight of everything that has just happened. “Hi,” he whispers, a lump in his throat that makes it almost impossible to speak, and Zayn just lets out this soft little sound that’s almost a whimper.</p>
<p>“Hi,” he whispers back, his own voice just as thick as Louis’, and he doesn’t seem willing to let him go, which suits Louis just fine. He thinks if Zayn pulled away from him now he might just fall over and lack the energy to get back up. “Are you okay?”</p>
<p>Louis isn’t sure how to even answer that, so he just shakes his head, presses against his best friend a little bit closer. “Was I gone long?” He murmurs, and Zayn exhales a shaky laugh into his hair. </p>
<p>“I don’t know,” he admits. “Realistically, no. Maybe an hour or so. But it felt longer. Time feels different here, somehow. Thick.” Louis can hear him swallow, hear the shaky tone to his voice. “Something happened, while you were gone. I mean. You weren’t really <em>gone</em>, you were still here, lying on the forest floor, which - fucking hell, I about shit my pants when you dropped and didn’t react to anything anymore. It was terrifying even before you started screaming.” Zayn sounds as though he’s trying his hardest to hold it together, and Louis isn’t surprised when he tightens his arms around him even more. “Please tell me that what I saw didn’t actually happen.” </p>
<p>Louis pulls back, ignoring Zayn’s small whimper, though he stays close, stays in his embrace, only pulling away just enough so that he can look at him. “What did you see?” He whispers, his hand coming up to card through Zayn’s hair. He’s surprised to see slashes on his wrists, red and angry though they’ve healed over. </p>
<p>Zayn’s eyes widen at the sight, though, and he shivers, biting down on his bottom lip so hard that the skin gets mottled. “I don’t know,” he manages thickly, “but something was wrong. I was sitting here, and then - I felt like I was about to lose you.” Suddenly it’s him sagging, and Louis gently coaxes him into sitting down onto the small rock formation nearby, Zayn looking like his face has been drained of all colour. “Fuck. Louis. Tell me it isn’t true.” He looks up at him, his dark eyes a stark contrast to the pallor of his skin. </p>
<p>Louis exhales loudly, hiding his shaking fingers by dragging them through his hair. “You saved my life.” He whispers, and Zayn lets out this wounded little sound, like he’s somehow more in danger of losing Louis now than he was when he actually saved him. “I don’t know how, or what you did, but, the Oracle said, if you hadn’t been there-”</p>
<p>“You spoke to the Oracle?” It’s clear that Zayn needs more time to fully grasp what’s happened; Louis can’t blame him, he thinks he might be in shock too, he certainly feels tired and numb enough for it to be true. It makes sense that Zayn’s brain is grasping onto the one thing that he can make sense of in the moment.</p>
<p>Louis sits down next to him, wrapping his arm around Zayn’s shoulders because Zayn looks like he needs it right now. He can feel his best friend fold into him, his own arm snaking around his waist, clinging to Louis’ waist like he’s worried he’ll disappear on him again. “Yeah,” he says quietly, once Zayn has curled into him and closed his eyes. “I did. Thanks to you. She said I wouldn’t have made it there without you.” He presses a kiss onto Zayn’s dark hair. “Who knew huh.”</p>
<p>Zayn lets out a snort, and though he’s still quite visibly shaken it’s a reassuring sound to hear, one that makes Louis’ lips quirk up. “Me,” Zayn says quietly. “Remember. I’m the smart friend.”</p>
<p>“You are.” Louis agrees. “The smartest, and the kindest, and the best friend I could ever ask for, really.” </p>
<p>Zayn hums for a moment, presses a bit closer. “Don’t think that you’re able to sweet talk your way out of this,” he warns, but there’s no heat behind it, and he doesn’t seem too bothered about getting Louis to talk right now. He doesn’t even muster up the energy to scold him, which Louis has to admit is as nice a change of pace as it is worrying. </p>
<p>“Don’t worry,” Louis assures him. “By the time we’ve got you back in the hotel, get some food into you, I know you’ll be more than ready to yell at me for putting my life in danger.” He ruffles Zayn’s hair, doesn’t get more than an indignant hum out of him. “C’mon love. Let’s get back, yeah? Are you okay to walk?”</p>
<p>“‘m not a child,” Zayn mutters petulantly, “I’m fine,” but the fact that his knees buckle the moment he attempts to get up sort of belies that statement. “Okay, maybe I need just another minute.” </p>
<p>Louis smiles, pressing another kiss to his hair. “Take all the time you need, love.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>By the time they’ve gotten back to the hotel, Louis can feel the lack of energy catching up with him. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so tired in his entire life, not even when he was in uni, pulling all-nighters and cramming for finals. This goes deeper than that, it’s this bone deep weariness, this ache that has him longing for peace. He’s not sure a shower and a good night’s sleep will be enough to fix the exhaustion, thinks he might need some time to reflect on everything that has happened and what it means for him.</p>
<p>But Zayn deserves answers, and where Louis felt more drained by the second, Zayn seemed to perk up the further they got away from where they stumbled upon the Oracle. He seemed to understand that Louis wasn’t in much of a mood to talk though, because where he’d sometimes chat his ear off - people who think that Zayn is this quiet mysterious guy are severely mistaken, he’s nothing like that with his friends even if he does enjoy his peace - he’d been content to just walk with him, gently steering Louis away from roots and uneven ground. The hand on his back had been nothing short of reassuring, but Louis is still relieved when they stumble their way into their hotel room, would’ve allowed himself to fall straight into the bed if it weren’t for his dirty clothes.</p>
<p>“Alright if I take a shower?” He yawns, dragging a hand through his hair, and Zayn nods, gives him this gentle frown that says he’s worried but doesn’t want to call Louis out on it. “Promise we’ll talk after, I just-” he shrugs, and Zayn just nods again, as though he understands what he’s trying to say when Louis isn’t even sure what he means.</p>
<p>“I’ll call Li. Tell him we got back safe. He’s staying with H, so, if you want me to relay a message?”</p>
<p>Louis scratches at his scalp, knows that he needs to call Harry, that he needs to tell him everything, but right now the prospect seems a little too daunting. And besides, he thinks that Zayn deserves to hear the story first. After all, he is the one that actually played an active role in it. “Just, tell him I’ll call him later?” He swallows, nodding, though it’s more towards himself than Zayn. “Tell him, tell him things are going to be okay.”</p>
<p>Zayn’s eyes widen for a brief moment, and Louis is dimly aware that he hasn’t exactly shared anything of the outcome with him either, but thankfully he doesn’t ask, just nods and digs through his bag for his phone. </p>
<p>Louis stumbles into the tiny bathroom, stripping out of his clothes and moving to turn on the shower, adjusting the temperature so it’s just a few degrees from scalding. There’s dirt underneath his fingernails, or maybe it’s dried blood, he isn’t sure, but it isn’t until he glances in the mirror and sees the large scratch marks all across his abdomen that something inside of him <em>cracks</em>.</p>
<p>He opens the door to the shower cabin, a hand pressed to his mouth as he slips into the shower, a violent shiver ripping through his body despite the warmth beating down on him. Even with his eyes closed he can feel the tears slipping through his lashes, mingling with the water from the shower, and for a moment he struggles to even breathe. </p>
<p>He blindly feels for the nearest wall, slides down until he’s sitting, the showerhead raining down on him at an awkward angle but it doesn’t matter. He just needs a moment to himself, a moment to get <em>back</em> to himself, to fully inhabit his body again, feel the hurt and the fatigue and the helplessness that has been painstakingly kept at bay for the past few hours. </p>
<p>Louis has always been good at crying silently, never wanting anyone else to overhear, catch him in a moment of vulnerability. Never wanting anyone else to need to care for him either, if he’s honest, and he’s grateful for it now, because the walls are thin and Zayn is just on the other side of the door, and Louis knows that he’s going to need to let him in but it’s just <em>so much</em>.</p>
<p>Now that he’s no longer in a daze, he can feel it, every little aftereffect of the ordeal he’d gone through, the tests the Oracle had inflicted upon him. He can feel the pain that he’d felt this afternoon, and even though it’s a ghost of the real thing, it still stings, burrows underneath his skin and spreads through his veins, making him quietly gasp for air. He’s surrounded by darkness, knows now that there’s something blacker than black, something terrifying that makes him afraid to close his eyes. He knows what it’s like to feel utterly alone, to feel abandoned by everyone, to not even be able to call for help. </p>
<p>He knows what it’s like to feel helpless and hopeless, and he doesn’t want to admit to it, because he doesn’t want to worry anyone, but that’s exactly what his problem has been all this time. The Oracle was right. He’s never fully let anyone in, not the way that Zayn or Liam have. Not the way that Harry deserves, and Louis knows that he should be glad that there’s a chance Harry can be human, but he hadn’t expected it to hurt that much to hear that he isn’t going to be good enough.</p>
<p>He wants to change that. He wants to be the kind of person that ultimately doesn’t suffer alone, that asks for help when he needs it, because he knows that it’s the right thing to do, but there’s something that’s always held him back. Fear. The fear of being a burden on those he loves, of adding to their troubles. But also, deeper down, the fear that people won’t be able to be there when he needs them most; that he’ll have come to depend on them and will need their strength and that it’ll ultimately lead to his destruction. That when push comes to shove, their other problems take precedence, and Louis won’t know how to rely on himself anymore.</p>
<p>Louis curls in on himself, arms wrapped around his knees, that are drawn tight to his chest. He barely notices the temperature of the water, that should be too warm to be comfortable, or the cold tiles against his back. He barely notices anything, except this despair which would be all too easy to lose himself to. </p>
<p>But he knows what the Oracle said. He knows that without Zayn he wouldn’t have made it back. He knows that going through life alone might lead to his destruction too, that his stubbornness might lead to worse outcomes than asking for help would do.</p>
<p>“Zayn.” It’s quiet, at first, his lips trembling and his teeth chattering, this roaring in his ears that isn’t just from having his head under the spray of the shower head. “Zayn.” His voice breaks, body shivering and he’s not sure he has the energy to call out for him a third time. Tears press against his eyelids, burning, and he’s so <em>tired</em>.</p>
<p>“Lou?” The door opens and Zayn is there, bathed in an almost ethereal light though Louis knows that realistically it’s probably just the lamp in the bedroom. “Did you need any- <em>oh</em>.” </p>
<p>Zayn. His friend. His best friend. His platonic soulmate. </p>
<p>He doesn’t waste any time, doesn’t even bother stripping off his shirt or taking off his socks. He just murmurs a quick “call you back in a minute Li,” before dropping the phone, kneeling down by Louis before he even bothers to turn off the shower. “Hey. I’m here. What do you need?”</p>
<p>It’s that simple. It’s not <em>what’s wrong</em>. It’s not <em>what happened</em>. It’s not asking for things that Louis can’t bring himself to talk about right now. It’s just a simple <em>what do you need</em>, and Louis feels something else crack open inside his chest, but this time it’s lighter. This time it’s a reminder of the light, of the sense of warmth and belonging that he’d felt. “Zayn.” He says it again, just to reassure himself, to remind himself that he <em>isn’t</em> alone even when he feels like it. That there’s help, whether he asks for it or not. “Zayn, I’m scared.”</p>
<p>Zayn frowns, pushing Louis’ wet hair out of his face, his hand cool on Louis’ cheek. Steady. Louis leans into it, making a soft sound when it’s gone, but Zayn just hushes him, keeps a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Just grabbing a towel babes.” He murmurs, wrapping Louis up in something that might have one day been soft and fluffy, but is now scratchy against his skin. It’s warm and dry though, and it’s enough. “C’mon, I’m gonna help you up, ‘kay? Count of three.” Zayn’s voice is soft, filtering through the haze, through the worry and pain and desolation, and Louis lets it guide him, letting Zayn’s light chase away the darkness that this ordeal has left in his mind.</p>
<p>Zayn helps him back into the bedroom, dries him off and hands him a fresh pair of pants and some pajamas, and Louis is too grateful to feel embarrassed, just lets himself be taken care of for once in his life. </p>
<p>It’s when he’s in bed with a warm cup of tea in his hands - Yorkshire, because of course Zayn had thought to bring some - and a few pillows behind his back that he finally starts to feel a little bit more like himself. “Sorry.” He says quietly, and something in Zayn’s look softens. “No, I mean.” He makes a face. “I don’t think I’m sorry, really, for asking for help.” He frowns. “Just. Sorry if I scared you.”</p>
<p>Zayn settles onto the other bed, legs crossed underneath him, a mug of tea in his own hands too. “Good.” He says gently. “That you’re not sorry for asking. Because I’m glad you did.” He blows into his tea, and Louis knows that he’s leaving a deliberate silence, not wanting to push him to talk even when they both know he’s dying to know. </p>
<p>Louis selfishly takes another moment, waits for his tea to cool down enough that he can sip from it. The first sip is almost like coming home, and he is glad when it’s leaving him feeling a little bit more settled into his skin. “The tests were -” he swallows. “They were horrible. I just - it’s like I’m still catching up. Like part of me is still in that cave, reliving what happened, and I don’t - I underestimated it. I thought I’d be okay. Because I’m always okay. I’m always-” he shrugs. “I think I confused the need to be okay with the reassurance that I would be.”</p>
<p>Zayn frowns, but doesn’t say anything, and Louis shifts to sit up a bit more, takes another sip from his drink. “When I first went on this journey, when I went to Ireland and saw Niall, he said something about how this wasn’t just Harry’s journey. And he’s right. I’ve learned a lot, I think, in these past few weeks.” He glances at his lap, at the light steam that’s rising up from the tea. “The Oracle said that I’ve never given my heart to anyone. And she’s right. She said that I always try to control life, that I need for things to go my way, and that I’m terrible at letting anyone take care of me. She didn’t exactly say that last part verbatim, but, it’s true. I should’ve asked for help, Z. I shouldn’t have needed you to tell me you were coming along. I should’ve been honest and told you that I was terrified and that I couldn’t do it on my own, but I was scared to, because I’ve always been scared to depend on people. It’s not - I don’t actually think you’ll leave, or anything, I feel like we’ve gone through enough that I know that you’re here to stay, but, I just. I’ve never felt like it was okay to be a burden on you. Like, you have your issues. Liam has his. Everyone has their issues, and why should I add to that? Why should I think that it’s okay to just-” he shakes his head, trails off in favor of taking another sip of his tea to wash down the bitter taste in his mouth.</p>
<p>Zayn shifts, but Louis is staring so intently at his lap that he doesn’t realize where he’s going until he can feel the bed dip beside him, Zayn crawling onto the mattress and shifting to press close against him. He takes Louis’ cup from his hands, puts it with his own on the bedside table. “I know I’m the smart friend,” Zayn murmurs, “but that doesn’t give you permission to be the stupid one, Lou.” </p>
<p>Louis considers protesting that, but even though he doesn’t like feeling vulnerable he can tell that this is Zayn trying to make light of it, trying to make him feel like him baring his soul isn’t the big deal that Louis subconsciously seems to think that it is. So he just presses his head against Zayn’s shoulder, exhaling shakily when Zayn obliges and starts lightly scratching his scalp. “You’re not a burden. I know that you know that, on some surface level, but it’s not enough to logically know that. You need to feel it, babes. You - why do you think I was so hell bent on coming with? It’s not that I don’t have enough going on in my life, you’re right about that. Between wedding planning and my job, and quitting smoking, I’m not jumping for joy at adding <em>saving my best mate from potentially killing himself</em> to the list of things I need to worry about. But I came anyway. Because I love you. Because when it comes to people you love, you do those things for them.” He chides gently, and Louis lets his words wash over him, lets them soothe him. “I choose to share your pain. I choose to be here for you. Because I love you.”</p>
<p>Louis closes his eyes, allows himself to truly feel those words, tries to, for once in his life, <em>hear</em> them, beyond what his logical brain will allow himself to believe. “That’s what the Oracle said. Sort of. She said you were the kind of person who had it figured out. Who could trust others with his heart. Even when it hurt. She said you loved, even when it meant you might lose someone. How do you - I don’t think I know how to do that. I don’t think I know how to let people in and really see the core of me.” He swallows, glances up at Zayn without moving his head from his shoulder. It means he gets no more than a view of his chin, but that’s alright. “Am I a bad friend? Because I do love you.”</p>
<p>“I know you do.” Zayn says softly. “I think it’s because you love people so much that you want to protect them. But it’s not up to you to decide how much we can handle, Lou. I get where you’re coming from, but it’s <em>not</em>. Not asking for help, not trusting us with who you are and what you need - that hurts more than sharing your burdens. Because we still worry. We still feel the weight of everything, maybe even more so when we’re on the sidelines and unable to help.”</p>
<p>Louis swallows. He presses a tiny kiss to Zayn’s jaw, something that’s half an apology, half just impulse because he is so lucky to have someone like Zayn in his life. Someone level headed and strong, someone that Louis could aspire to be. </p>
<p>He finishes his tea, putting the empty mug back on the bedside table, before letting out a slow, almost measured breath. “The Oracle said that the solution to Harry becoming human was for him to be loved unconditionally. No limitation, or reservation, or, I don’t remember, a bunch of other -ations.” He swallows again. “She said that someone needs to give him their heart. And that I’ve never trusted anyone with mine. She said - I care a lot about people, but in the end I’ll always be alone because I keep my heart from ever really belonging to anyone. So she said - it wouldn’t be me. Or, well, that it might not be me. And that’s - it doesn’t <em>have </em>to be me, so that’s good, because, well, he’ll still get his happy ending, even if I can’t-” Louis finds he can’t finish his sentence, the weight of everything crashing down on him once more, making him feel suffocated and small, alone until he hears Zayn’s voice, feels the reminder of his presence through the fingers that still in his hair before resuming their soft ministrations.</p>
<p>“But do you think you could love Harry?” Zayn asks, and Louis has to resist the urge to dismiss the question, has to force himself to push past all the reasons that he can’t, or shouldn’t. </p>
<p>“I thought I did.” He admits, fingers curling and uncurling at his side, brushing over the soft fabric of his pajama pants to give him something to focus on, something to steady him. “I mean, I care about him. You know that better than anyone.” He bites down on his lip. “It hurts that it isn’t enough. To be told that I’m not-” </p>
<p>Zayn shifts, stops petting him, and Louis wants to whine, goes as far as to let out a soft whimper, but Zayn just sits up, looking at him, and there’s something almost incredulous in his eyes that Louis can’t help but take personally. “You’ve been holding back though.” Zayn says, and he says it so matter of fact that Louis just sits there and blinks at him. “I mean, forget about all the things the Oracle said. About you never giving your heart to anyone - that doesn’t mean that you <em>can’t</em>, Lou. It just means that you haven’t. That doesn’t mean that you’re forever doomed to live your life without love. Just that you’ve been too scared to really let yourself fall for someone.” He gives him a smile, something wry but somehow still gentle. “You’re one of the bravest people I know, but when it comes to love, you’re a coward. You think that you can control love, like it doesn’t happen to you if you don’t want it, and I <em>get</em> it. I get that you don’t want to get hurt, and you don’t want to be left alone, but Jesus, Lou. That’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking if you could see yourself loving Harry.”</p>
<p>Louis bites his lip, feels something warm sting his cheeks, just like tears are stinging his eyelids. He feels shamed and scared and seen all at once, and he can’t help but meet Zayn’s eyes even if he’s almost scared to do so. “I don’t know.” He whispers, ignoring the unimpressed look Zayn gives him. “No, <em>listen</em>. You of all people should know why I can’t. Why I haven’t. You said it yourself. You said that the way I depended on him was unhealthy, and that Harry was better off without me, and that the way I felt was wrong, you said all those things Zayn. And you were-”</p>
<p>“Wrong.” Zayn interrupts, before Louis can finish his sentence, and something in the way that he says it, something about his conviction, gives Louis pause. “Look, I know that we like to joke about how I’m the smart friend, and I’m always right-”</p>
<p>“Because you usually are.”</p>
<p>“Right. Except that doesn’t mean that I’m infallible. And even if I <em>was</em> right back then, don’t you think that the situation’s changed?” Zayn reaches for him, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You’re not the same person you were back then. Harry is - well, he <em>is</em> a person now. I don’t think he even was before. He was a reflection of what you wanted, but I don’t think he is anymore. I think that he’s doing things because he wants to, not because he thinks you want him to. Back then, no, it wasn’t right. But now? If you think you could love him, really honestly truly love him, the way that I love Liam and the way that you both deserve to be loved, then I think you should stop holding yourself back.”</p>
<p>“Even if he doesn’t love me?” It’s small, and Zayn sighs, wrapping an arm around Louis’ shoulders and pressing a kiss to his temple. </p>
<p>“Whether or not you love him doesn’t depend on how he feels about you,” he reminds him. “You either do or you don’t, Lou. So yeah. If you love him, then you love him. Even if he doesn’t love you.”</p>
<p>Louis sighs deeply, fidgeting with his blanket. “You’re right. I know you’re right. But it’s scary, Z. I don’t - I don’t want to be left alone. I don’t want to stand there and give him my heart and have him <em>leave</em>, and I just-”</p>
<p>Zayn holds him a little bit closer, a little bit sweeter. It doesn’t do much to soothe the hurt, but it’s nice all the same. “You’re still acting as though you’ve got a choice in the matter, Lou,” he says quietly, and Louis bites his lip because he likes to think that he does. He likes to think that he can keep himself from getting hurt if he just tries hard enough. “I don’t think you do. Think about it. You’ve been trying all this time, telling yourself no, and you still developed feelings for him. Think about what would happen if you stopped holding back. If you stopped telling yourself no - I don’t think you even need to fall in love with him. I think, if you let yourself feel it, you realize you already are.”</p>
<p>Louis almost wants to protest that, but before he can even open his mouth, Zayn gives him a look, gentle but stern. “Don’t argue,” he says, and his fingers are light on Louis’ ribs, the ghost of a tickle. “Don’t make me remind you yet again that I’m the smart friend.” His eyes soften. “Just think about it, alright? That’s all I ask. Next time you talk to Harry, don’t just dismiss everything you’re feeling right out of the gate. For once, just allow yourself to feel it. That’s what it means to be human, right? To feel all the good and the bad, and everything in between.”</p>
<p>Louis sighs. “I hate it when you’re being clever.” </p>
<p>Zayn just smiles and presses a kiss to Louis’ temple. “It’s my cross to bear.” He sighs dramatically, and it’s so stupid, but after everything they’ve been through, it’s just enough to make Louis giggle.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>By the time Louis gets around to calling Harry it’s almost eight in the evening, and he feels bad, knows that even though Zayn called Liam back after Louis had calmed down some, Harry was still worried and waiting for his call. </p>
<p>And it’s not as though Louis isn’t just as eager to talk to him, hear his voice again. He thinks that hearing his voice might just be the one thing he needs most right now, the thing that’ll fully bring him back to his body and soothe all the lingering hurt and fears. But he’s been putting it off nonetheless, because now that he’s seen the Oracle, now that he knows the answer, the thought of speaking to Harry makes him kind of nervous. </p>
<p>His heart does this nervous flip-flop when he hears the dial tone, and when Harry picks up he can’t stop himself from smiling at the sound of his voice. He tries to hide it by pressing his face into his arm, even though Zayn’s kindly gone out to give him some privacy. It’s strange, how just hearing him gives him butterflies, even though they’re faint, how now that he isn’t trying to ignore those things they’re suddenly there - and it can’t be that simple, he reasons. It can’t be that this is enough.</p>
<p>“Hi Lou,” is all Harry says, and yet Louis has to bite his bottom lip to keep the grin from splitting his face. </p>
<p>“Hi Haz.” He manages, wrangling his smile into submission, and he shifts to lean back against the pillows, picking at the comforter. “Sorry I didn’t call earlier.”</p>
<p>“Are you alright?” There’s worry in every syllable, and it causes Louis’ heart to ache, the immediate need to reassure him so strong that he almost chokes on his words. “Liam said that Zayn sounded kind of worried, before.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” He says quietly. “Sorry. It just - it was a lot, you know? The whole Oracle thing, I might’ve underestimated it a little. But I made it back in one piece, just like I promised.” At least, he thinks he did. There might be some long term effects that he doesn’t know of, but for now, he feels alright. Cold and tired and still a little bit not quite there, but nothing that he’s worrying over. Nothing that he wants to worry Harry with. Though, it isn’t lost on him, how that means he’s already reverting to old patterns. “It was scary,” he decides to tell him, wanting to push through the discomfort that comes from leaning on other people. “Like, really scary, Haz. I - God, I don’t want to worry you, but-”</p>
<p>“I’ve been worrying enough,” Harry interjects quietly, and Louis is struck by how spot on Zayn had been. “My mind’s been racing all day. I just kept thinking, what if something’s going wrong and I won’t know, but then I’d think no, Louis needs me to be strong and positive, and- I’d rather know, okay? You can tell me. You can tell me anything.” </p>
<p>The fact that Harry is genuinely worried, and not just waiting for him to tell him if he found a solution isn’t lost on Louis, and he finds himself smiling again. “Yeah?” He bites down on his lip. “Okay.” He licks at the part of his lip he’s just bitten onto, trying to collect his thoughts. </p>
<p>“It was, there were tests. And they were vague, like, kind of dreamlike but not? I think there were three of them in total. I’m not sure what they measured, but, it started off with this darkness. This … loneliness. But it was more than that. It was despair. I felt like I was nothing, except fear.” He shivers even now, at the memory. At the helplessness he’d felt. “After that, there was light. Warmth. All these memories of happy times. Of my mum and Zayn and you.” </p>
<p>He swallows, absently traces one of the lines on his stomach. “But then it switched again, and all I could feel was pain. So much pain. It was suffocating. There was guilt too, and I thought, I can’t do it. I can’t - I’m not strong enough, on my own.” He breathes out shakily, bunching the comforter up between his fingers. Harry stays quiet on the other end of the phone, barely even breathing. “And I wasn’t,” Louis whispers. “I wasn’t strong enough. Zayn-”</p>
<p>His voice nearly breaks. “If Zayn hadn’t been there, things would’ve turned out different. He gave me the charm you guys bought - which, thank you for that, it means a lot - but even when I tried holding onto it, to you guys, that wasn’t enough. I was so scared and alone and it hurt so much, I couldn’t - and all I could think was that I was wrong, and that I’d die here, and it’d be my fault that you’d never become human, just like everything was my fault-” his voice wavers again but he pushes on, quick enough that Harry won’t protest the things he’s just said. “Zayn, I don’t know how he did it. The Oracle didn’t tell me. But suddenly I wasn’t alone anymore, and I somehow found the strength to continue.” He pauses for a second. “She said that he saved my life.”</p>
<p>When he’s finished speaking, all he hears for a moment is Harry’s breathing, hitching and unsteady, on the other side of the line. He’s about to ask him if he’s alright, when he hears a small “excuse me” being whispered into the phone, before the sounds go muffled. Louis can’t help but strain his ears for some kind of clue as to where Harry’s mind is at, and hears a vague distant scream, something so guttural and primal that it makes him shiver even when it’s barely audible. He hears the phone being picked up again then, finds himself torn between wanting to cry and wanting to smile when Harry tries to steady his voice, failing miserably. “I’m back.”</p>
<p>“Are you okay?” Louis asks him, wishing that he could be here with him now, that he could reassure him that things are alright. Maybe if he held him things would be easier. For both of them. </p>
<p>“It’s hard not to feel guilty,” Harry admits, and Louis can understand that. “To think that you were there because of me, and I could’ve been responsible for-”</p>
<p>“No.” Louis can’t let him work himself up into a panic, can feel it clawing up Harry’s throat as though it’s happening to his own. “Harry, no. That’s not your responsibility, remember? We talked about this.”</p>
<p>Harry lets out a sound. “But that was before I knew that you almost died.”</p>
<p>“Keyword being almost.” Louis reminds him gently, and he listens to Harry as he struggles to get his breathing under control. “I didn’t. That’s all that matters now, alright? I’m still here, and you’re still here, and it all worked out.”</p>
<p>Harry swallows, the silence feeling heavy. “Did it?” He whispers, and Louis knows what he’s asking, can feel his throat constricting now, because he knows that it did but he also knows that it hasn’t, yet. That it might never, if he keeps pushing his feelings away. But how does he change that, when he’s never really allowed himself to submit to what he feels? </p>
<p>“Yes and no.” He says softly. “I mean. The Oracle gave me an answer. But it wasn’t a straightforward one, and it’s something that-” he finds himself struggling, not sure if he wants to tell Harry what the solution is when that places such a weight on every conversation they have. When it almost makes him feel as though he’s racing against the clock. Zayn was right, he shouldn’t overthink this. He should just allow himself to feel. “I can figure it out.” He says, wanting that to be true. “I might just need a few days. Are you - will you be okay?”</p>
<p>He can tell that Harry isn’t too thrilled, understands that he probably wants him home as soon as possible, to affirm that he was still alive and in one piece. The image of Harry checking him over almost makes him laugh, but then, he’s not sure he wants him to see the slashes on his skin. Even when he knows that he shouldn’t hide those things from him. “I guess,” Harry says after a moment, and Louis can feel his heart ache. </p>
<p>“I’ll be home soon, I promise. I’m finding the answer.” He isn’t sure if that’s true or even possible, but he knows that he wants it to be. Knows that part of him will never be quite satisfied if someone else gets to be the one to turn Harry human. Even if it means letting himself fall for him when he knows Harry won’t be there to catch him. He’s going to have to find a way to live with that, no matter how much it hurts. “Have faith in me, alright?”</p>
<p>Harry’s voice softens. “Always.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>The problem is, Louis finds the next morning, he’s never been good at sitting with himself. At introspection and dealing with his emotions. He’d rather pour them into art, or drink them away, numb himself to the truest of his emotions even when he deals with those minor ones on the surface. He can stand annoyance, knows himself and his weaknesses, but it’s something quite different, having to examine how he feels about someone. </p>
<p>He knows that he can’t approach it from a logical standpoint. He’s done that all his life. Based decisions, even in relationships, on the expectations that he had. He’d gone into relationships knowing that they would end, which meant that he always got to be careful. He never fully had to commit because on some level he always knew it wouldn’t work out. And that had kept him safe, albeit lonely. </p>
<p>He still wants the same thing he always did. He wants what Liam and Zayn have. A partnership. Someone to depend on. Someone to marry and raise a family with, because Louis might want kids someday and he doesn’t want to do it with someone that he feels lukewarm towards at best. </p>
<p>But that requires falling, hard and fast and with no contingency plan, and how is he supposed to know who the right person is? How is he supposed to know if he’s capable of it, before he launches himself out of the metaphorical plane without a parachute? </p>
<p>Theoretically, Harry is his perfect man. Theoretically that makes him the right person. And Louis does care about him. Wants him to be happy. But those are all logical conclusions, none of them enough to stop him from feeling terrified. Does he truly feel enough for Harry to take that leap? Is Zayn right, does he just need to let himself feel what he feels, and stop holding back? </p>
<p>It’s ten in the morning and he’s already given himself a headache; he can’t help but worry that he’s going to think his emotions to death if he’s going to examine them any longer. Zayn left him to his own devices after bringing him breakfast, muttering something about needing to be away from this shit and how he was going to go on a walk, but Louis knows that he’s really just giving him time to reflect on the situation. He’d taken his camera with him when he left because Zayn sees the world like Louis does, through photographs and inspiration. Louis is glad that at least he’s able to enjoy himself, that now that the hard work is done (for Zayn at least) he gets a nice trip out of it. It’s no less than he deserves.</p>
<p>He’s about to give up and maybe see if he can find Zayn somewhere, figuring that the fresh air would at least clear his head a bit even if it’s not going to help him sort through his thoughts, when his phone rings, signaling an incoming video call from Harry. He doesn’t hesitate in picking up, finds himself smiling before the video’s even connected. </p>
<p>“Louis?” Harry is close in the frame, so close that Louis can almost see up his nostrils, and he can’t help but giggle at that, waits patiently for Harry to pull the phone away from his face a bit. “Hi! Hey Lou! Hi!” He sounds so excited that Louis almost wonders if he’s gotten into the sugar somehow - nevermind that he only uses it to bake treats for Louis, and possibly Liam now, since Harry is a stress baker too - but it becomes clear just why he’s so excited when the phone reveals a bit more of Harry’s surroundings. “Louis <em>look</em>,” he says, and he tries to angle the phone, showing off the world around him.</p>
<p>The world around him, that is covered in snow, and Louis pushes down the brief panic that erupts inside of him at seeing Harry outside the moment he can see Liam in the background, waving a mitten covered hand at him before Harry angles the phone back towards himself. He schools his features into something that isn’t so incredibly fond, though judging by the smile Harry’s giving him he’s barely even noticing anything. “Snow, Louis!” He gushes, and for a moment Louis can only stare at him. </p>
<p>His eyes are greedily taking everything in; the slight redness to Harry’s nose (that he would tease him about if Harry knew who Rudolph was, and there’s a thought, maybe when he’s home they can watch a Christmas movie), the little snow crystals that are embedded in his curls. The green scarf tucked around his neck that almost perfectly matches the shade of his eyes. The way Harry is smiling, brighter and happier than Louis has ever seen him.</p>
<p>Something soft unfurls itself in his heart, and he finds himself suddenly unable to breathe as he looks at Harry. At <em>his</em> Harry, who is laughing and rambling excitedly about how he’d woken up this morning to find that the world had changed, and Louis can only sit there and listen to him even though he’s barely hearing anything through the sudden rushing in his ears. It’s okay though, because on some deep level he understands. </p>
<p>Because Harry’s world has changed, has been covered in a blanket of snow, and Louis’ world - </p>
<p>Louis’ world has changed too. Right along with it. Because as he’s sitting there, watching Harry, this feeling slowly crawls up his spine, overtakes him, enveloping him in something warm and soft and fond. He’s watching him and all he can think, all he can feel is -</p>
<p><em>Oh</em>. </p>
<p>He can’t quite put a name on it at first, but once he can, once he realizes what this feeling is, this softness that’s unfurling itself in his heart, it almost hits him like a freight train, hard and deep and fast, making him dizzy and breathless. His hand is shaking so badly that he needs to hold onto the phone with both hands, not wanting to miss a moment of Harry on his screen. </p>
<p>Harry, who is still talking, but the blood rushing in his ears is drowning out all other sounds, and it’s like his heart has given up on trying to find a normal pace, settling on a too fast rhythm<em>.</em> </p>
<p>Louis sits there and can only blink, he wants to examine the feeling that’s starting to pour into his veins, spreading through his body, but he’s scared to grab hold of it, sure that it will burn him with how intense he suddenly feels. He’s not sure how that’s possible, how any of this is suddenly possible, but it’s <em>Harry</em>, and Louis has long since learned that the laws of probability have no hold on Harry.</p>
<p>He’s feeling a little dazed, struggles not to get oxygen into his lungs but to manage some semblance of a reply because it’s clear that Harry’s waiting for one, but all his poor brain can come up with is a blank “it’s snowing.”  It’s weak and it’s making Harry’s face fall a little bit, this concerned frown knitting his eyebrows together and Louis just - he wants to be there, to smooth out his frown with his fingers. To hold his face and feel the coldness that the snow had left behind. He wants to kiss his cute little red nose and be wrapped in those arms and-</p>
<p><em>I love you</em>. </p>
<p>It’s a revelation, but at the same time, it’s <em>not</em>, because he knows that Zayn was right, that this isn’t actually something he’s just started to feel. It’s something that’s been there a long time, simmering underneath the surface, always just out of reach because Louis was so careful to place it there. “Oh fuck,” he laughs, and it’s not about the snow but it <em>is</em>, because it’s about Harry and in a way it’s always been about Harry. “Oh baby, that’s your first snow. Oh, I wish I was there with you to enjoy it.” </p>
<p>Harry’s slowly started to smile again at those words, though his frown hasn’t quite disappeared, but Louis can see the enjoyment seeping back in, the excitement that he momentarily lost at Louis’ less than enthusiastic reply. He’d tell him why that is, but he doesn’t have words for it right now, is still dizzy with how suddenly he’s longing for him, how all he wants is to be home and in his arms, even if Harry doesn’t feel the same way. </p>
<p>Because, he realizes with a start, it doesn’t matter. </p>
<p>It doesn’t matter if Harry doesn’t love him, because Louis loves him enough for the both of them. Because sitting here, in Greece, in a nondescript hotel room, miles from home, getting to watch Harry enjoy the snow for the first time, Louis realizes that this is all he wants. For Harry to feel like this all the time. To be happy, to experience new things. </p>
<p>To be <em>alive</em>. </p>
<p>This is enough. It’s enough to just be part of his life. To get to watch him explore the world. It’s enough because as long as Harry is happy, Louis is happy.</p>
<p><em>I love you</em>, he thinks, delirious and happy and dazed, but he doesn’t say it. “Me too,” Harry says, and it takes his poor heart a moment to realize that he hasn’t somehow read his mind and is saying it back, but that he’s talking about wishing Louis was home with him. The softness in his gaze is enough to offset the slight hurt at the realization, and his heart trips over itself all over again, his breath still elusive because Harry wants him home, Harry wants him with him, and he’s in the snow for the first time and Louis has missed it, except that he hasn’t because the first thing Harry thought of was to call him, to include him in this moment when he couldn’t be there in person. </p>
<p>“Soon,” Louis whispers, and his voice breaks over the word and it’s all so much but it’s not enough, he just wants to be there with him, wants to tell him everything and share his world with him, wants to offer him his heart and tell him it’s his, and there’s terror there, still, there’s fear and there’s confusion but for once in his life he doesn’t let that set the line. For once in his life he allows himself to drown in his emotions and he’s finding out that he can breathe underwater. </p>
<p>It’s all so much. It’s crazy, and not at all logical, because it’s such a small thing, there’s not been a moment, but somehow it makes sense. </p>
<p>Love happens in the inbetween, his mum always used to say, and Louis thinks he gets that now. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His heart still hasn’t settled by the time he catches up with Zayn. </p>
<p>He finds his best friend on his stomach on the ground, photographing some flowers that Louis doesn’t know anything about, but that he can tell clearly mean something to Zayn, because there’s a soft smile on his face and he doesn’t even look up when Louis’ feet move into his line of vision. </p>
<p>Louis resists the urge to nudge his toes at his side, fingers clenching and unclenching; he feels as though he’s about to burst, torn between wanting to tell Zayn everything he’s just realized and also wanting to keep it all to himself for a little while longer. He’s practically vibrating out of his skin, but still Zayn takes his time, only rolling over once he’s satisfied he’s made the perfect shot.</p>
<p>Louis forces himself to stay quiet, all the way up until Zayn has packed away his camera, but by then he’s barely able to contain himself, has to actually sit down on a rock formation to keep from hyperventilating.</p>
<p>“Lou?” Zayn asks, and Louis finds that his fingers are shaking, finds that he would give anything for a cigarette but true to his word Zayn had smoked them all the previous night, and Louis hadn’t wanted to buy more in some misguided attempt to keep Zayn from returning to his addiction. </p>
<p>“I love him.” He whispers, and he’s almost embarrassed to hear his own voice crack in the middle of the sentence. The pressure that he’d felt on his chest doesn’t fade at his confession, and he finds himself looking up at Zayn, who looks mildly startled as well as concerned. “I love Harry.” He gives Zayn a helpless little smile, a little shrug, and Zayn’s frown deepens before it evens out.</p>
<p>He nods. “I know.” He whispers, and he kneels down where Louis is sitting, hands lifting as though he’s about to rub Louis’ arms, though in the end he just gently presses his fingertips to the inside of Louis’ wrist. It’s a grounding touch, something that makes him shiver but that settles him too, and he finds the courage to meet Zayn’s eyes, to finally give sound to what he’d realized once he’d hung up the phone, what he’d tried to push away and not have to acknowledge the entire time it took him to find Zayn. </p>
<p>“It’s not enough.” </p>
<p>Zayn looks at him, something soft and gentle, and Louis doesn’t know why he wants to cry, except that he does. “It’s not enough, Z,” he repeats himself, as though Zayn has missed that particular statement. </p>
<p>Louis doesn’t miss the way Zayn’s eyes dim slightly, and he looks back down, rubs his hands over his knees, but the sensation isn’t enough to quell the fear in his stomach. “What do you mean babes?” Zayn asks carefully, his thumb rubbing circles into Louis’ skin, and Louis bites down so hard on his bottom lip that he can taste blood. </p>
<p>“Harry called me. A bit ago. He - it’s snowing. It was his first snow, and he was so excited, and he wanted to share it with me, and I just - I looked at him and I thought - <em>there you are</em>.” He swallows. “I thought, I love him. It was like, one look, and I just <em>knew</em>. You know?”</p>
<p>He can tell Zayn does, can tell that he’s thinking of Liam, fondness flitting over his face before it’s replaced by gentle concern. “But?” </p>
<p>“But nothing.” Louis swallows. “And I mean. Nothing. I thought - this was what the Oracle said had to happen, right? He had to be loved, unconditionally, and I sat there and I thought, there’s nothing I won’t do for him. I just want him to be happy. I just want- but it didn’t work, Z.”</p>
<p>Zayn shifts, resting his hand on Louis’ shoulder, the other on his knee. “You mean-”</p>
<p>Louis nods, tries in vain to swallow down the lump in his throat. “He looked beautiful. Flushed and wild and perfect and- exactly the same. There’s nothing - that flush on his cheeks, it’s still too artificial.” </p>
<p>“So he didn’t-”</p>
<p>It hurts to breathe. “He’s still a statue.” Louis whispers, glancing away, embarrassed by the tears in his eyes, the desperation in his voice when he continues. “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong that my heart isn’t enough?”</p>
<p>Zayn shifts again, wrapping his arms around Louis, holding him close. It takes him a moment to succumb to it, to allow the comfort that his best friend is so willing to give him. “I thought I did it right,” Louis whispers. “I thought - it hurts enough, knowing that he doesn’t feel the same, but that was alright, as long as he’d get to be happy.”</p>
<p>He can hear the frown in Zayn’s voice, though he doesn’t move away to look at Louis, his chin still resting on his hair. “Is that what he said?” His hand is gentle on Louis’ back, rubbing circles into his skin. “That he doesn’t feel the same?”</p>
<p>Louis snorts weakly. “He didn’t have to. I know that he doesn’t.”</p>
<p>Those words do prompt Zayn to pull back, just enough to look at him, that gentle frown making a reappearance. “But you told him? Didn’t you? You told him how you feel?”</p>
<p>Louis fidgets. “Well,” he starts, falling quiet when Zayn’s eyes widen.</p>
<p>“Are you fucking kidding me.” Zayn exhales sharply, stops hugging Louis, which, <em>rude</em>, and just gets to his feet, pacing back and forth. “Jesus fucking Christ. I thought you needed to be consoled, but honestly, Lou, what you need is a kick in the ass. Of course he hasn’t turned human yet <em>if you haven’t given him your heart</em>, how naive are you?”</p>
<p>Louis contemplates getting to his feet too, but his legs are still feeling a little weak, so he stays put even when he hates not having the upper hand, hates being talked down to like he’s a child even when it’s just physically. “But I did!” he counters, but he’s well aware of how weak it sounds even to his own ears. “I mean, I realized how I felt, didn’t I?”</p>
<p>Zayn rolls his eyes with such attitude that Louis is almost surprised they haven’t fallen straight out. “And did you accept it?” He says, something so saccharine in his voice that it’s almost offensive. Louis is too tired for a fight though, can’t muster up the energy to be frustrated, even when it’s simmering under the surface. “Because no offense, Lou, but it sounds to me like you’re still trying to find a loophole. Fall in love with him but don’t tell him, that’s still pretty safe isn’t it? That still means that you’re holding back.”</p>
<p>“Offense taken,” Louis snaps back, but he knows, even if he doesn’t particularly want to admit it, that Zayn is right. “Excuse me if I didn’t think that telling him over the phone was the right idea.” </p>
<p>Zayn deflates a little bit at that, stops pacing and kneels down by Louis’ legs again. Louis stubbornly refuses to look at him, until Zayn starts carding his fingers through his hair, and even then only after a moment, because he’s always been weak to that particular touch. It’s truly unfair that his best friend knows that. “Sorry,” Zayn says, when Louis is finally willing to meet his eyes. “You have a point. It’s better to tell him in person.”</p>
<p>Louis lets go of the last of his indignation, managing a small smile. “You have a point too,” he admits grudgingly. “I might’ve overreacted a little bit.” He sees Zayn’s lips quirk up into a small grin, and some of the pressure eases off his chest. “I just - I saw that nothing had changed, and I kind of freaked.” He pauses. “I mean, if I’m being honest, I was probably freaking out a bit beforehand. I love him, Z. Who knew?” </p>
<p>Zayn arches an eyebrow. “You mean, besides the rest of the people who have seen you around him?” He teases lightly, and Louis manages something that holds the middle between a smile and a scowl. “But that’s good though. That you realized it. The first step is admitting it.” </p>
<p>“I think that’s for alcoholism.” Louis points out helpfully, and Zayn makes a face at him. He sighs. “What’s the next step?” </p>
<p>“Well, we’re working on acceptance-” </p>
<p>“That’s the five stages of grief,” </p>
<p>“Shut up.” Zayn humors him though, giving his ear a playful flick before continuing to scratch his nails over Louis’ scalp. Louis really loves him a whole lot, because he probably doesn’t really deserve to be comforted at this moment. Zayn’s definitely his favorite human. Next to Harry. But he’s not exactly human yet. “Well, I guess the next step is we go home and you tell him.” </p>
<p>Now it’s Louis’ turn to make a face. “Great. I’m going to get my heart broken. Yay.” He cheers weakly, and Zayn just rolls his eyes again. </p>
<p>“Sometimes I really question why we’re friends,” he tells him, getting to his feet and pulling Louis back up with him. </p>
<p>“Because I’m the nicest person you know.” Louis counters. </p>
<p>“Hardly.” Zayn smirks. </p>
<p>“The smartest person you know?” Zayn doesn’t even dignify that with an answer, which, considering the past half hour, is probably fair. Louis snorts, shrugs a shoulder. “At least I make your life interesting?” He suggests, and Zayn nods at that. </p>
<p>“At least there’s that.” He wraps an arm around Louis’ shoulders, after picking up his camera bag and hoisting it over his own. “C’mon. Let’s go back to the hotel, so you can practise declaring your love to Harry.”</p>
<p>Louis wonders if Zayn’s going to smack him upside the head if he’ll drag his feet a little.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>It’s late at night - their flight booked for the next morning, and not even because Louis is a coward who is still hesitant about going home and getting his heart broken, but because the universe has conspired against him, or for him, by canceling a bunch of flights due to the snow storm back in England - when they’re in bed, that Zayn speaks up. It’s dark enough that Louis can only see the shape of his body under the blankets, but he has an inkling that Zayn is staring up at the ceiling instead of at him, something he often does when he’s working through something in his head. </p>
<p>“I think you’re wrong, you know,” is what he says, as though they’ve been having a conversation all this time. As though Louis hadn’t at least pretended to be asleep for the past half hour or so. In reality he’d been staring at the ceiling too, though his emotions were too conflicting to really make sense of any of them. </p>
<p>He shifts onto his side, knows better than to pretend he hasn’t heard him. Zayn can probably tell from his breathing that he’s still awake anyway, the observant fucker. “Hm?” He says, because he’s not really sure if he’s up for whatever revelation Zayn is about to bring up. </p>
<p>Zayn doesn’t move. In the muted darkness of the room Louis can see him now, blankets pushed down to just above his hips, his arms under his head. You could cut glass with his jawline, Louis thinks sleepily. “I think that you’re wrong,” Zayn says again, and Louis rubs his face against the pillow to force himself to focus a bit more. </p>
<p>“About?” </p>
<p>“I think there’s something between you. Harry - he cares about you.”</p>
<p>The darkness feels like it’s inside of Louis now, something dark and twisting and he almost wishes that he hadn’t humored Zayn, had still pretended to be asleep. He knows he can’t do it now though, can’t let that statement go unanswered no matter how badly part of him wants to. “Sure,” he says easily, his voice more even than he’d anticipated. “He cares. That’s in his nature. Not - I’m not even saying he cares because he has to,” because he thinks that Harry’s beyond that point at least where he just cares because it’s in him to do so. “But that’s just who he is. He cares about people. He cares about you and Li too.”</p>
<p>“Yes.” Zayn agrees, and Louis watches as he turns onto his side too, their beds just far enough apart that Louis has to squint to see any expression on his face. “But he doesn’t look at either of us the way he looks at you.” It’s soft and to the point, swift and almost casual in its delivery. Louis’ heart still hammers in his chest. </p>
<p>“Zayn,” it’s low, warning almost, but Zayn’s never really listened to warnings, not when it comes to something he feels he’s right about. Not when it comes to Louis and his ever insistent bullshit as a last line of defense. </p>
<p>So Zayn just shrugs, and Louis hears more than sees it, the long suffering sigh that seems to be the only acknowledgement from Zayn for a moment. Louis shifts back onto his back, is about to roll over to his other side so he can stare at the wall instead when he can hear Zayn’s breath hitch, a sure sign that he’s not ready to drop the conversation even if Louis is. “I’m just saying. If I thought he looked at Li the same way he looks at you, I’d be sitting down to have a talk with him.”</p>
<p>Louis’ lips quirk up despite himself. “Bit possessive, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>“Liam’s my world, man.” Zayn’s not even embarrassed about it. “But nah. I wouldn’t give him a dressing down. Just. Would gently suggest he finds someone else to give his heart to, since Liam’s never going to return his feelings.” Zayn drags a hand through his hair, that’s soft now that he’s washed out all the product. “But that’s not the case. Because Harry doesn’t look at Liam that way. Because he looks at <em>you</em> that way.”</p>
<p>Louis isn’t sure why his first instinct is to shake his head, to dismiss Zayn’s words. Self preservation, maybe. He can’t afford to get his hopes up. “Even if he does,” he says softly, “it’ll pass.”</p>
<p>It’s the wrong thing to say, he can tell, even before he can hear the soft tick of Zayn’s jaw when he tenses it, even before the blankets are pushed down and Zayn all but pounces onto his mattress, pinning him to the bed. Louis almost shrieks, but Zayn doesn’t seem perturbed, just settles down on top of him like it’s an everyday thing. </p>
<p>“Zayn, what the fuck.” Louis can’t even push him away, his hands trapped by the blanket that Zayn is now straddling him on. </p>
<p>“No.” Zayn says, and his voice is so even that it’s almost scary. “I think you mean, what the fuck <em>Louis</em>.” He jabs a pointy finger into Louis’ chest. “What is up with this fucking self deprecating bullshit.” He jabs his finger at him again, and Louis makes an affronted noise, wonders if it’s worth the effort to try and squirm free. “Harry would be lucky to have you, do you hear me. You’re a fucking catch.”</p>
<p>“Alright.” Louis just barely manages not to roll his eyes, worried it’ll just earn him another jab to the sternum. “I’m a fucking catch. Is there any reason that you elected to pin me to the bed to tell me that?”</p>
<p>Zayn deflates for a moment, tension in his muscles fading, and Louis could probably wrestle him off now, but he doesn’t, just watches as Zayn’s face, still clouded in shadows, grows softer, the pinch between his eyebrows fading somewhat. “I don’t know,” he admits, sort of sheepish and sort of not. “I thought, maybe it’ll get you to listen to me for once in your damn life. Maybe for once it’ll get you to see yourself through my eyes.” He narrows those eyes at Louis. “<em>Don’t</em> quip about how that’d be inappropriate, because I’m beyond done with your self deprecation.”</p>
<p>“But it’s just a joke,” Louis says weakly, only for Zayn to shake his head.</p>
<p>“It started out that way, maybe.” He says, his voice low. “But the thing about jokes is, Lou, if you repeat them often enough, they stick. If you keep telling yourself off, talking down to yourself, soon enough you’ll start to believe it, and I’m not having it. I’m not having you joke about how you’d be such a terrible partner, as though Harry wouldn’t be the luckiest boy in the world to have you love him.” He rests a hand on Louis’ chest, sighs as he pushes himself off, rolls off to lay down next to him. “Look at all the shit you’ve done for him, Lou. All the things you were willing to risk, to make him happy. You risked your <em>life </em>for him. And now you’re willing to risk your heart, risk getting it broken if he doesn’t love you back, and you’re still going to go through with it even when it terrifies you. Anyone would be lucky to have someone love them that much.” His voice is whisper soft, but it manages to cut right down to Louis’ core, makes him bite his lip as he rolls back onto his side so he can wrap Zayn up in a quiet hug that says more than any thank you could ever do.</p>
<p>They remain pressed together for a few minutes, until Louis lets out a quiet snort, and Zayn just sighs, as though he knows what’s coming. “Is it alright to joke now?” Louis asks, and he’s only half sincere, but he really doesn’t want to upset Zayn when his best mate has been brilliant, has been better than Louis might deserve, lately. </p>
<p>The sigh gets repeated, Zayn’s fingers wriggling between them to prod at Louis’ cheek. “Fine,” he declares, frowning those bushy eyebrows of his. “Give it to me.”</p>
<p>Louis bites his lip, arches his own eyebrows, waggling them a bit. “Well, I was just going to say how it’s a good thing Liam’s not the jealous type. What with you straddling me and all. But now you’re saying <em>that</em>, and I’m starting to think that maybe Liam <em>should</em> be the jealous type. Are you propositioning me, Malik? After all these years?” He pretends to suddenly think of something, eyes widening before he leans in conspiratorially. “Are you getting cold feet? Is that what this is?”</p>
<p>“Sod off,” Zayn laughs though, shoves lightly at Louis’ chest. “God, can you imagine? Me and you? It’d be a disaster babe.”</p>
<p>“Hey!” Louis can’t help but laugh too, cuddling into Zayn again, glad when he lets him. “I’ll have you know that I was reliably informed that I’m a fucking catch. So.” He smirks, a little smug, and Zayn just snorts again and drops a kiss on top of his hair. </p>
<p>“You’re a freak is what you are.” He mutters, but there’s no heat behind it and Louis is too tired to take offense either way. He just wants to stay in Zayn’s arms for a little while longer, enjoy easy affection and tease and be teased so that he can keep his mind off of what’s going to happen once he gets home. No matter what Zayn says, he can’t really believe that Harry likes him in that way, or at least, that he likes him <em>enough</em>. Harry had barely seen the world, he’d met no one else aside from Liam and Zayn, and jealous type or not, they weren’t exactly going to be open to adding someone else to their relationship. “You’re wrong, by the way.”</p>
<p>“Am I in the Twilight Zone?” Louis teases. “I’m pretty sure that we’ve had this conversation before. You’ve told me the exact same thing just as I was about to fall asleep earlier.” </p>
<p>Zayn might roll his eyes, Louis isn’t sure. “Well, you’ve been wrong a lot,” he says reasonably. “And also, I believe I said, <em>I think you’re wrong, you know</em>. So. Not the <em>exact </em>same thing.” </p>
<p>Louis snorts again. “You should’ve been a teacher.” He pauses. “But enlighten me. What am I wrong about this time? I mean, I suppose you could just leave it as a blanket statement, because you’re right, I <em>have</em> been wrong quite a bit lately, but, humor me.”</p>
<p>Zayn chuckles lightly at that. “Just,” he says vaguely, drawing some absent spiral onto Louis’ shoulder with his fingertip. “About Li not being the jealous type. I mean, he’s not jealous of you, he could probably find us naked in bed together and not bat an eyelash, but, that doesn’t mean that he’s not jealous of other people.” His voice goes soft, that special tone that he always uses when he talks about Liam. Louis wonders if he’s even conscious of it, but he’d never ask Zayn, doesn’t want him to start being conscious of it and adjusting the way he speaks about the man he’s intending to marry. “Sometimes it’s not even got anything to do with me at all. I mean, in most cases, jealousy really doesn’t. It’s more about feeling inadequate, worrying that someone else might be better at something than you are. But. Yeah. Li’s kind of a lot like you, in that regard. He tends to talk himself down too. ‘s why I hate it so much when you do it. Because I know that it’s not just jokes. I know that at the end of the day, he’s the one looking in the mirror, thinking that he doesn’t measure up.” He lets out a soft, almost shaky sigh. “When if he could just climb into my head for a minute, he’d never doubt himself again.” Louis watches his face, what little he can see, watches the smile creep onto it. “I love him so much it <em>hurts</em> sometimes. And that’s the thing, Lou. We never know what it’s like on the other side. We only know what people show us. And I try to show Liam how much I care-”</p>
<p>“He knows.” Louis whispers quietly. “I know he knows.”</p>
<p>Zayn nods. “He does. But even that is not enough to combat those voices sometimes. The self deprecation, it’s so strong, Lou. And I don’t want that for you. Because I can handle it now. I’ve spent years dealing with it myself, and I’ve got years of experience with Liam too. But Harry? He’s new to all this. If you tell him that you love him but you immediately start talking yourself down, he might take that to mean that there’s something wrong with loving you. That he’s wrong, somehow. And I don’t want that for him.” He sighs again, something soft and fond. “Just - promise me you’ll take it slow, okay? I know that technically Harry’s an adult and all, but, this is all new to him. If he ends up feeling something for you, will you promise me to take it slow?”</p>
<p>Louis swallows. “I will,” he says quietly. “I’m not, there’s no expectations, Z. Even if - I know that there’s so little of the world that he knows. I want him to take the time to figure it out. My heart-” he laughs, something reedy that almost gets stuck in his throat. “Well, shit. My heart’s not going anywhere, I think.” He closes his eyes, almost as though it’ll keep him from having to face what’s ahead of him, the pain that he might be feeling soon. “I - fuck. I think this might be it. I think I might be that stupid person who only falls in love, properly, once in their life. And it’s terrifying, because I don’t know if I’m the only one. And - what if I’m going to have to watch him live his life, fall in love with someone else? What if-” he stops himself, not because he doesn’t have more <em>what if’s</em> but because he knows that nothing good can come from working himself up to a point where even Zayn can’t talk him down anymore.</p>
<p>“What if’s aren’t real babe.” Zayn says softly. “They’re just things your mind tells you to keep you from getting out of your comfort zone.” He brushes his thumb over the nape of Louis’ neck, something soothing that makes Louis release a bit of the tension in his body. “You can only deal with the here and now.”</p>
<p>Louis nods, careful not to dislodge Zayn’s hand from the back of his neck. “For what it’s worth,” he whispers. “The actual here and now? Being here with you? That’s pretty good. This whole journey - I thought I couldn’t feel closer to you, that I knew everything there was to know about you, but, I don’t know. I just feel like, you and me, that’s kind of forever in its own way.”</p>
<p>Zayn smiles, just a small hint of pearly white teeth. Louis knows his tongue is pressed to the back of those teeth, and the knowledge that he knows him so intimately makes his heart ache in the sweetest way. “It is,” Zayn agrees in a low voice. </p>
<p>“Loving people isn’t so bad then,” Louis murmurs. “Might hurt like hell, but, from what I can tell, might also be kind of worth it.” He can feel his lips quirking up a little bit, into a smile. “Love you, Z.”</p>
<p>He can feel the barest hint of pressure from Zayn’s lips brushing over his forehead. “Love you too Lou. Get some sleep.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>Nine in the morning is a <em>terrible</em> time for a flight to depart. On its own it doesn’t seem that bad, but combined with having to be at the airport two hours before the plane takes off (and Louis might usually cut it close, arrive with enough time to spare but definitely less than two hours before take off, but Zayn’s not like that, Zayn’s a planner and Louis doesn’t care enough about sleeping in that he’d risk Zayn getting all anxious) as well as a two and a half hour car ride before they even get to the airport, it’s downright atrocious. </p>
<p>It’s currently four in the morning and Louis has just stubbed his toe, and he can’t even curse because other people might wake up, and it’s dark out and cold and he’d stayed in bed for too long so he doesn’t even have the chance for a cup of tea. He’s not in a good mood, is the conclusion, and Zayn’s even less of a morning person than he is, so all in all, the day’s not off to a great start.</p>
<p>Luckily they’ve traveled light, and packing isn’t much of an issue, and by the time it’s a quarter past four they’re on the road, bleary eyed but awake. Zayn’s elected to drive, because he’s just going to fall asleep otherwise, he said, but Louis knows that it’s more that he doesn’t want to give Louis two hours to himself to freak out more than he already is.</p>
<p>Not that Louis is freaking out, really. It might just be the early hour, or the fact that he hasn’t slept that much, but for once he feels almost calm. </p>
<p>Whatever happens, happens, and he’ll meet it when it does. </p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>By the time they’ve found their seats on the plane, Louis is starting to feel the effects of getting up at an early hour, his eyes drooping before he’s sat down. He hadn’t slept either in the car, not wanting to leave Zayn to navigate unfamiliar roads on his own in the dark, and the both of them shuffle sleepily towards their seats, happy to sit down even though that’s all they’ve been doing since they got up this morning.</p>
<p>Zayn’s too tired to really be anxious about the flight, which is a small godsend, and he pillows his head on Louis’ shoulder, closing his eyes as the flight instructions wash over them. Louis just presses an absent kiss to his forehead, ignores the rather disgusted stare he gets from this teenager just down the row. First off, it’s nothing new unfortunately, still in this day and age, and second, he doesn’t really care what anyone thinks of his affection. Not when he finds such comfort in being affectionate with Zayn, in getting cuddled on a daily basis when he needs it most. Maybe he’s naive, but he feels strongly that if more people got platonic cuddles the world would probably be a better place. </p>
<p>He dozes somewhat on the plane, glad that the flight goes smoothly, at least until their descent. Though the snow’s stopped, there’s still quite a lot of wind, and the plane jostles, making his stomach lurch unpleasantly as the aircraft drops a few feet. Zayn’s hand slides wordlessly into his, and Louis squeezes it, giving Zayn a smile that he returns with a tightlipped one of his own. He’s not green this time, which Louis is quietly grateful for, though he can tell by the lines around Zayn’s eyes that this will never be his favorite part.</p>
<p>“Think Li will be there to pick us up?” He asks, just to have something to ask, but it helps, the mention of his fiancé making Zayn’s smile a little less strained. </p>
<p>“Hope so,” he breathes out between clenched teeth. “Might bug him into giving me a piggyback ride, feel like my legs are going to give out after this.”</p>
<p>Louis takes a moment to appreciate the visual, a grown man carrying another grown man through the airport. He knows Liam would do it in a heartbeat, he’s just as gone for Zayn as Zayn is for him. “Think Harry might be with him?” </p>
<p>Zayn’s breath hitches as the plane jostles again, his cheeks paling a little bit, though he’s got his breathing under control, just inhales and exhales slowly, attempting to force his racing heart to calm down. “Doubt it,” he says softly, and Louis nods, because yeah, it’s probably not going to happen. Liam would probably fret far too much about taking Harry to such a public place, wouldn’t want to risk anything happening when they were so close to figuring everything out. They’d have a million more chances, after all, but still Louis can’t help but feel a little bit disappointed, a little sour at the prospect of having to see Zayn reunite with his boy while his own is waiting at home. </p>
<p>“I missed him.” He admits, as though Zayn hasn’t lived through the past couple of days with him. Zayn arches an eyebrow, but he smiles too, and Louis doesn’t feel embarrassed about admitting that his heart skips a beat at the mere thought of getting to see Harry again. </p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>There are definite nerves by the time he gets off the plane, something residual from their bumpy descent he could say, but he knows that’s not it. Knows that every step just leads him closer to what the pessimistic side of his brain would label as his doom. His realistic side would probably call it a resolution, and while that’s not much more positive, it at least calms him a little bit. No matter the outcome, what truly matters is that the search is over. And they’ve actually managed to find an answer. Something that Louis could’ve only hoped for weeks ago.</p>
<p>The airport here is a lot more crowded than the one in Athens had been, and they find their way through the crowd of people, Louis not looking anywhere in particular because he knows Liam’s like a homing beacon for Zayn, he’ll be able to find his way to his fiancé even when he can’t see him. So he just follows him, holding onto a strap of his backpack so he doesn’t get lost in the crowd, glancing at his feet more than anything else because he’s tired and the people flitting around him are almost enough to make him feel dizzy.</p>
<p>He can hear Zayn’s sharp intake of breath, nearly runs into his back when he suddenly stops, and Louis glances up, a small frown on his face.</p>
<p>It’s ridiculous. It’s like the crowd literally parts in front of them, and there they are.</p>
<p>There they are, the <em>both</em> of them, and Louis’ heart feels like it’s being squeezed so hard he can barely breathe for a moment. </p>
<p>Liam and Harry haven’t spotted them yet, and Louis has a moment to admire him, the way he’s tucked away in a hoodie that might be Liam’s, hands in the front pocket so that as little of his skin as possible is visible. The way he’s rocking back and forth, nervous energy needing an outlet. Louis watches him chew his lip, eyes scanning the crowd just as Liam’s do, and his heart slowly starts to beat again, something soft and warm spreading through his body. </p>
<p>“Is this how you feel when you get to see Liam again?” He whispers nonsensically to Zayn. Zayn chuckles.</p>
<p>“Every time. Still.” He answers, and Louis nods, looking back to the two boys that are waiting for them. Liam’s hovering almost protectively, torn between looking for Zayn and looking out for Harry, and Louis has this moment where he’s just overcome by it all. By the love he has for these people, the love he has in general. </p>
<p>And then they spot them. Harry sees him first, and Louis sees him struggle to get his smile under control, those dimples so deep they could be lethal. He imagines he can see the warmth in his eyes, the way he wants to pull away from Liam and run towards him, and Louis finds himself answering that call, finds himself heading towards him, cutting through the crowd and never seeing anything except for the boy in front of him.</p>
<p>They collide, arms wrapping so tightly around one another that Louis isn’t sure he’s able to breathe anymore, but it’s alright, because he’s home, and Harry is in his arms. Harry’s arms are around him, and Louis tunes out the world, the kiss that Liam and Zayn exchange as a way of saying hello. <em>I love you</em>, he thinks, but instead he just holds onto Harry a bit tighter. “Hi,” he breathes out, then, because he’s tired and emotional and everything about this is perfect: “you came.”</p>
<p>“Hi Lou.” Harry murmurs back, and Louis blames the fatigue for imagining that his voice sounds just a tad softer than it usually does, a tad more intimate. A shiver runs up his spine when Harry presses a kiss to his cheek, those full lips warm and soft against his skin. “Couldn’t wait to see you.”</p>
<p>“Glad you didn’t.” He whispers earnestly, torn between pulling back so he can see his face and staying here indefinitely, pressed close to the boy he loves.</p>
<p>Because he does. Love him. He loves him so much that it’s almost impossible to fathom that he hadn’t known before. That just a few short days ago he’d been so insistent on pushing away his emotions. He loves him, and he knows with perfect clarity that no matter what, he will always love him.</p>
<p>“Home?” It’s not Harry who says that, it’s Liam, who looks at them with a quirked eyebrow and a gentle smile, and Louis almost curses his friends for being so perceptive, because it’s clear there, in Liam’s eyes, that he knows what Louis hasn’t dared to even tell Harry yet. It’s strange, for a moment, how out of the four of them only the boy who owns Louis’ heart doesn’t know it yet, but at the same time, he feels safe in being seen by his friends. </p>
<p>“Please.” He says, exhaustion making itself known again, weighing down the words on his tongue. “I’m so tired, I could sleep for days.” He allows Harry to carry his bag, resists the urge to take hold of his hand, indulge in the selfish pleasure of slotting his fingers between Harry’s. He does stay close though, all the way to the car.</p>
<p>Zayn settles in the passenger seat, his hand already on Liam’s thigh before he’s even bothered to close the door, and Louis crawls into the backseat, loathe to put space between himself and Harry even though he knows that it’ll just be for a short drive.</p>
<p>“Got you something,” Harry murmurs, and Louis is about to tell him that usually the people returning from a trip are the ones bringing presents, but he’s stunned into silence when Harry hands him a thermos. </p>
<p>“Tea?” He asks, his voice a little shaky for some reason, and Harry frowns for a moment before smiling as he nods. “How’d you know?” </p>
<p>Harry gives a sheepish little shrug, scratches at the back of his head. “I know you,” he says simply, and Louis is just tired enough that those words almost make him tear up. </p>
<p>He can vaguely hear Zayn muttering something under his breath, teasing Liam, who just answers by taking hold of Zayn’s chin and pressing a long, lingering kiss to his lips. Louis barely hears Zayn huff out a laugh before he answers with a kiss of his own, because there’s a rushing in his ears as he looks at Harry, as well as an insistent pressure in his eyes. <em>I love you</em>, he thinks, and it’s only the knowledge that a long conversation is to follow that keeps him from saying it right then and there.</p>
<p>Instead he reaches for Harry’s hand, gives it a little squeeze. “Thank you.” </p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>At Zayn’s insistence, Liam just drops them off, rather than coming back to the flat with them. He claims fatigue, and Louis teases him about just wanting to be alone with his fiancé, but the look they exchange is clear enough. Zayn’s is soft, concerned but also hopeful, and Louis’ is grateful, albeit a little nervous. They exchange hugs - Louis curled over the front seat so he can loop his arms around Zayn from behind - as though they haven’t just spent the past few days together, but Louis is grateful for the way Zayn’s hands feel on his skin, instilling him with a little bit more courage. </p>
<p>He smacks a kiss against Liam’s cheek too, for good measure. “Thanks Payno,” he murmurs, and it’s for more than just coming to pick them up. It’s for everything he’s done for Harry in the past few days, and for just being the stellar human being that Liam is. “Don’t know what I’d do without you,” he says, because he remembers everything that Zayn had said, and he agrees with him, he never wants Liam to feel less than anyone else in his life. </p>
<p>Harry echoes a quiet thank you to the both of them, gathers the thermos and the bag in his hands, leaving Louis to hold the door for him so he can get out of the car. It makes Harry grin, something delighted in his features, and Louis almost blushes as he follows him towards the apartment building, holding the door there too before he lets Harry lead the way up the stairs.</p>
<p>The silence between them feels at once stifling and comfortable, and Louis stares at Harry’s calves, at his thighs as the muscles move under the denim when he climbs the stairs. He’s beautiful, objectively, which makes sense because Louis had created him to be that way. But it’s more than that. It’s the way he moves, sensual without being aware of it. In tune with the body that had been created for him. He almost looks taller somehow, like he’s growing into his skin. </p>
<p>Louis is glad to kick off his shoes once they get inside the apartment, shrugs off his jacket and places his shoes on the welcome mat, so the snow doesn’t melt onto the hardwood floor. Harry mirrors his actions once he’s put down Louis’ bag, and for a moment they just stand there, toes almost touching, sharing the same small, intimate space of the hallway. </p>
<p>“How’s Bethany?” Louis murmurs, which isn’t what he was going to say but his mind’s not working properly, being this close to Harry. He’s torn between wanting to put some distance between them and wanting to press closer, sways a little bit, steadied by Harry’s hand that comes to rest gently on his hip. </p>
<p>“Alright,” Harry answers him in a soft voice, and Louis looks up to see him sporting a gentle frown. He wants to reach out and tuck a strand of Harry’s hair behind his ear and it’s as though they’re the same person, because no sooner has he thought it than Harry’s hand comes up, pushing Louis’ hair away from his forehead. The touch is gentle, but it burns, and Louis swallows even as he smiles. “How are you?” Harry whispers, and Louis thinks that’s an even more loaded question than Harry knows.</p>
<p>He considers it for a moment. “Good,” he says finally. “Tired. Lots of thoughts. But, on the whole, I’d reckon I’m alright.” He gives Harry a smile, reaching for him, his fingertips feeling out the softness on his waist. “We should talk. I’m sure that you’ve got questions about the trip. About the possible answers I said I had.”</p>
<p>Harry chews on his bottom lip, and Louis has to resist the urge to pull the soft plush from between his teeth before he damages it. He’s not even sure it’s possible, since Harry doesn’t bleed, but he’d rather not risk it all the same. “Penny for your thoughts?” Louis offers, and Harry releases his teeth in favor of a timid smile.</p>
<p>“I’m nervous,” he whispers, and he’s the one swaying a little bit now, as though he can’t trust his legs to keep him up. “I don’t want to get my hopes up.”</p>
<p>Louis smiles softly, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “I don’t think you have to worry,” he whispers, reaching for Harry’s hand to give it a comforting squeeze. “Let’s sit down, yeah? So I can tell you everything.”</p>
<p>So he can lay his heart bare and end up getting it broken. Somehow it doesn’t sound all that awful anymore, now that Harry’s right in front of him. </p>
<p>Harry nods, even though there’s still some hesitance in his expression. “Okay,” he manages, going right back to chewing on his bottom lip. “D’you want lunch first though? I figured you might be hungry, so I made a quiche earlier, before we went and picked you up. But if you want something else I’m sure I can whip something up.” He almost sounds relieved at the thought, at getting to postpone the conversation or possibly just keeping himself busy so that he doesn’t freak out. Louis smiles gently, shifting to brush Harry’s hair from his face. He tells himself not to let his fingers linger. </p>
<p>“Quiche is fine, love.” He can’t manage to make his voice sound any louder than a whisper, not when they’re this close and all he wants is to be closer still. “Quiche is perfect. <em>You’re</em> perfect. I know that you’re scared, darling, but there’s no need. Just come and sit down with me, alright?”</p>
<p>“You should eat first.” Harry insists, and Louis’ smile widens a little bit. </p>
<p>“Alright.” He caves, thinks there’s nothing he won’t do for Harry at this point. Even if he’s not sure he’ll be able to appreciate the food Harry’s made until he’s told him, too worried that he’ll choke on the words in his throat that might keep the food from going down. “Food first, and then we’ll talk.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry keeps staring at him while he’s eating his food, and Louis feels a bit self conscious about it, about the way he chews and the pace at which he eats the quiche. He’s not sure if Harry wants him to tell him it’s good, or if he’s simply waiting for Louis to finish so they can go sit down on the couch and talk. The quiche might be lovely in any other circumstance, but it tastes like nothing now, like the emptiness that part of Louis is dreading. </p>
<p>He manages about two slices before he caves, finishing the glass of water that Harry had placed by his plate, glad when that at least goes down without any trouble. There’s still a lump in his throat, consisting of all his unsaid words, and he finds that the longer it takes the more he’s almost ready to tell him. Even if it doesn’t end the way that Zayn seems to think it will, it still beats existing in this limbo where Harry owns his heart without actually being aware of it.</p>
<p>Harry clears away their plates quietly, doesn’t wash them like he usually does, but just places them in the sink, and Louis smiles a bit because it’s proof of just how nervous Harry is too. He passes him by on his way into the living room, briefly resting his hand on the small of his back to give him the courage he needs to follow.</p>
<p>Once they’re on the couch, Harry with his toes tucked under Louis’ thigh like he can’t bear to not have some point of contact, some means of grounding himself, and Bethany in between them, happily snuffling at Harry’s calf, Louis takes a deep breath. His fingers are shaking as he runs them through his hair, and he gives Harry a sheepish smile when he looks at him with clouded eyes. </p>
<p>“I’ve thought about this for so long,” he starts. “And I still don’t know how to tell you just what happened. I don’t know where to start-” he exhales a breath. “You have to promise me you’ll listen, okay? Just - hear me out, and don’t say anything until I’m done?” He thinks that might be the only way he’s going to have enough courage to actually tell him. </p>
<p>Harry’s eyebrows pinch together for a moment, but he nods, mimicking shutting his mouth and throwing away the key. Louis thinks he must have seen that in a movie once. Some teenage girl thing on the Disney channel, perhaps. The thought makes him smile.</p>
<p>“Okay.” He breathes out, attempting to keep his fidgeting to a minimum, not wanting Harry to get distracted by anything other than his words. Not wanting him to think that Louis isn’t <em>sure</em>. “So here’s the thing. I love you.”</p>
<p>Harry arches one eyebrow. “I love you too?” He says, and Louis almost laughs because he didn’t even last one sentence before he spoke up, and he’s not sure why he had expected anything else. It’s sweet though, the reassuring tone in Harry’s voice, like he can’t help himself, always wants to make sure that Louis feels heard and accepted. </p>
<p>“No,” he shakes his head, reaches out for him, briefly resting his hand on Harry’s, giving it a little squeeze. “I <em>love</em> you.” He breathes out shakily, resists the urge to shake his head again. “I’m in love with you. But not just that. You - my heart is yours, Harry. It belongs to you and I have this feeling that it always will. And it scared me shitless, for the longest time, but I’m not afraid anymore.” It’s only half true, there’s still a part of him that’s terrified, but it’s not enough to keep him from speaking up. “I’m not afraid because- this is what it came down to all along. This is the solution the Oracle told me about. I give you my heart, and that will make you human.” He manages a little smile, though it fades when Harry frowns, stays quiet. “Harry?”</p>
<p>Harry exhales, just as shakily as Louis had done. His fingers twitch as though he wants to pull away, and Louis frowns, placing his hand back in his lap in case Harry needs a little space to work this through. “That's not right,” Harry whispers, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. “You taught me that. You shouldn’t be forced to feel something. That’s not - I don’t want it.” He meets Louis’ eyes, something wild and terrified. “I don’t want you to love me when that’s just something you’re made to feel.” His bottom lip trembles, when it escapes his insistent teeth. “Not even if it makes me human. I can’t - I won’t be that selfish. Not after everything. Not after I nearly lost you.”</p>
<p>Louis can’t help but smile tenderly at that, though he stays put, lets Harry’s toes under his thigh be enough contact for now. “No, love, that’s not what it’s like.” He says softly. “I’m not forced to love you. Anyone-” he swallows, “someone else could’ve done it. Someone else could’ve loved you and it’d be enough. I just happened to be the first. Harry - what I feel for you, it’s not because someone told me to. It’s something I’ve felt even before I went to visit the Oracle. I was just afraid to admit it to myself. I was worried that it was wrong, or that I’d end up hurt because you don’t return my feelings, but, being in Greece, talking to the Oracle, I realized that none of that means that I don’t actually love you. It just means that I’m denying that love, and I - God, I can’t do that. I can’t deny how I feel about you, and keep you from being human, just because I’m afraid.” </p>
<p>He reaches out for him then, thumb sliding over his cheekbone in a caress. “I’m afraid of a lot of things, but of nothing more than of you not getting the happiness you deserve. It’s not about you being selfish or not. You don’t really have a choice in the matter, love. My feelings, they are what they are. And my heart is yours. You not wanting to accept it doesn’t make it any less true.”</p>
<p>Harry stays quiet, and Louis’ smile softens, turns into something more gentle. “But I need you to know something.” He continues quietly. “How I feel for you, that has nothing to do with how you feel for me, okay? I don’t - love isn’t ownership. You don’t owe me anything, just because I feel a certain way. I’d never want you to feel like you have to return my feelings, or even stay with me. You can go and travel the world, make your own life. You can move out, have your own place. I’ll help, or Zayn and Liam will. You can do anything you want.”</p>
<p>He can feel Harry swallow, where his hand has subconsciously slid to the side of his neck. “Can I come back?” Harry whispers, timid but something so hopeful in his expression. “When I go and travel the world, can I come back home afterwards?” His fingers come up to rest against Louis’ knuckles, the touch cool and grounding. “Or can you travel with me? Can I - I know that love isn’t ownership, but can I still be yours?”</p>
<p>Louis thinks Harry might have to forgive him for tearing up at those words. He sniffs, even when he’s smiling, still wanting to reassure Harry that he’s alright, that this conversation’s okay, even when it’s making him cry. “If you want to,” he whispers back. </p>
<p>Harry nods. “I do.” His voice has grown even softer, barely audible even when they’re so close. “Is that okay? I know you said that I couldn’t love you, that that isn’t right-” </p>
<p>“That was then.” Louis counters quietly. “Things were different then. You were different.” He manages a small shy smile. “I was different too. I - I know that you’re not like that anymore. I know that you don’t feel things just because I tell you to. The Oracle told me that too. That you were starting to live for yourself. You’re making your own decisions, Harry, and that’s important. And it’s just as important for me to accept them.” He swallows. “Do you mean it? Do you really love me? Like I love you?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know.” Harry says, and Louis swallows down something bitter, but Harry must see something in his expression, because he hurries to clarify. “I don’t know how you feel. And I don’t know about all the different kinds of love, except for what I’ve seen on TV or read about in books. But I know that I’m miserable when you’re not here. I know that I wanted you to come back, and not just because I wanted you to be safe or because I don’t have much to do without you. I know I’d still want you here even when I’m human, because you’re kind and sweet and beautiful, and the thought of the future doesn’t scare me as much when I envision you in it.”</p>
<p>Louis smiles. Harry takes that as his cue to continue. “I want to see the world, but I want to share it with you. I want to figure out who I am, how I fit into the world, I want to find out what I want to do with my life. But then, at the end of the day, I want to come home and tell you all about it, even if you were right there with me. I don’t know if that’s love, but I know that I don’t feel it for anyone else, and I know that the thought of you finding someone else to do that with - it was bad enough when I was competing with a sculpture, but when I think of having to compete with the rest of the world - I don’t want anyone else to kiss you. I don’t want anyone else to come home to you, Louis, because you’re <em>my</em> home and I want to be yours. I want to be the light in the dark, I want to be the one that makes you feel like you always have a place where you belong.” He’s running out of steam, but keeps going, as though he still needs to convince Louis, as though he needs to be given permission to try. “I want to be the one you hold at the end of the day. I want you to be happy, I want to <em>make</em> you happy. And if that’s not love, if that’s not enough-”</p>
<p>“It is.” Louis says quietly. “It’s more than enough, H. Anything you feel is enough.” He’s reminded of what Zayn had told him, of taking this slow. “We don’t have to have it all figured out right now anyway.” He smiles at him, brushes his thumb over his cheekbone again. “For the first time in your life, we have time.”</p>
<p>Harry exhales, stress melting off his face, leaving behind something open and sweet, almost yearning. “Say it again,” he whispers. </p>
<p>“We have time?”</p>
<p>“No.” Harry shakes his head, shifting so that he’s in Louis’ space, Bethany hopping off the couch with what Louis swears is a disgruntled little hop. “Say it again.” He whispers, knees pressed to the outside of Louis’ thigh, as he’s kneeled next to him. His hand hovers, as though he wants to reach out to Louis’ face but isn’t sure yet. </p>
<p>Louis looks up at him, at those beautiful green eyes that he’d started dreaming about long before they were looking at him this way. “I love you.” He whispers, not even wanting to pretend that he doesn’t understand what it is that Harry needs to hear. “I love you so much, Harry.”</p>
<p>Harry fits his hands around Louis’ face, just looking at him for a moment, simple joy in his expression. “I love you too.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>It doesn’t happen straight away. There’s no big reveal, where Harry is a statue one moment and human the next. Louis might have expected it to happen that way - or at least, he had when he’d first figured it out, but there’s still a small part of him that had figured they’d get some fairytale reveal right now, complete with sparkles and all - but he’s not surprised when it doesn’t, when Harry’s still the same as he’s always been.</p>
<p>Harry’s a bit worried, he can tell, but Louis has this gut feeling of understanding, without really knowing why, that it’s just a matter of time. That this is it, it just takes a bit for it to sink in. So he takes Harry into the kitchen, finds a cupcake recipe that he knows Harry’s been meaning to try out. “Let’s bake,” he whispers, and Harry’s a bit distracted but he nods, smiles gratefully.</p>
<p>“Maybe this time I’ll actually get to eat them.” He whispers, but there’s doubt in his voice, that lingers even after Louis has pressed a kiss to his cheek. </p>
<p>“You will.” He tells him. “And I was thinking we could bring some over to Liam and Zayn’s house tomorrow. Thank them for everything they’ve done.” He knows Liam’s got a sweet tooth in particular, for as much as he tries to eat healthy - having bloody avocado on toast every morning, probably. </p>
<p>“Do you think we’ll get married?” Harry voices, and Louis chuckles, rests his forehead against Harry’s bicep for a moment.</p>
<p>“We’ve not even gone out on a date, love. Give my poor heart a break, will you? It’s still in shock that you actually like me back.” </p>
<p>Harry turns towards him, hands holding eggs stilling in mid air. “But you believe me, right?”</p>
<p>Louis’ expression softens. “Yeah, darling, I do. And you believe me, right? That us loving each other, that that’s enough? We have all the time in the world to figure out how we want to go from there. We can go on dates, we can find out what we like-”</p>
<p>“We can kiss?” </p>
<p>Louis swallows. “Yeah,” he whispers. “We can kiss. When you want to, when you’re ready for it, we can kiss.”</p>
<p>“How do I know?” Harry finally moves again, cracking an egg into a bowl and throwing the shell into their little compost bin. “How do I know that I’m ready?”</p>
<p>It’s a good question. Louis shrugs a shoulder, handing Harry a paper towel to clean the egg off his hands. “I don’t know.” He says earnestly. “Some people never want to kiss, but that doesn’t mean that their love is any less valid. You just take it as it comes, okay? I’m not going anywhere. There’s no pressure on this. Once you turn human, I don’t know just how much will change. Maybe it’ll just be an exterior thing. But maybe you’ll also have to adapt to a whole range of new emotions. Just give it time. When it feels right, you’ll know.”</p>
<p>“And then what?” Harry breathes out.</p>
<p>Louis smiles. “Then you just come and find me, and kiss me.”</p>
<p>“Just like that?”</p>
<p>Louis nods. “Just like that.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>The cupcakes are divine, and Harry is staring at them curiously. Louis can see the storm clouds drifting past just behind his eyes, reaches out to wrap an arm around him, squeezing him to his side. “Soon,” he says, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’ll get to enjoy them too, soon.”</p>
<p>“When?” Harry whispers. “I don’t feel any different. What if it didn’t work? What if the Oracle-”</p>
<p>Louis tugs gently at his earlobe. “What if’s aren’t real. And I know that you’re not telling me that giving you my heart isn’t enough, because, <em>rude</em> Harold. Just give it time, darling. I know that’s the answer I give to everything right now, but it’s true. Being human comes with a lot of waiting, and being patient.” He makes a face at Harry. “Two things I’m not particularly good at, but it’s worth it, I promise. Good things, things that are worth waiting for, it feels amazing, when you finally get it.” He knows that there’s far too much fondness bleeding into his tone, but for once he doesn’t feel embarrassed, isn’t scrambling to mop it up and hide it from anyone. </p>
<p>Harry sighs, buries his face into Louis’ hair for a moment, releasing a groan there that would send a tickle of something through Louis’ stomach in any other circumstance. But in this one it just makes him turn to wrap his arms around Harry, and they stand like that in his kitchen for a good while, silently offering each other comfort.</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>When it happens, it’s almost poetic.</p>
<p>They’d spent the night watching movies, something they’d done so many times before, and there’s nothing different about the situation but everything’s different. Because Louis just has to look over at Harry to feel his heart skip a beat, and for once he doesn’t feel the need to hide it. For once he just lets his fondness show, and every time he does he gets rewarded with the sweetest smile. </p>
<p>They touch more freely now, even if every touch is still platonic, there’s an undercurrent of something more, a desire that’s tentative and new and that simmers, colouring every moment without overcrowding it. </p>
<p>It’s natural, when Harry follows Louis to his bedroom. They undress without turning on the lights, slip wordlessly into bed together, and nothing happens but Louis’ heart is still racing, and his last thought before he falls asleep is that this might’ve been the best night of his life.</p>
<p>He wakes up to Harry gently shaking his shoulder, something that makes him groan before he’s fully woken up, fatigue still weighing down his eyelids so much that he struggles to open a single one. “What?” He murmurs, a little annoyed but softer then, when he can see the expression on Harry’s face through his one opened eye. “Harry?”</p>
<p>Harry’s sitting up, cross legged on their bed, something in his expression that Louis can’t read in the muted darkness of the room. So he shifts, turning on the light by the side of his bed, squinting when he looks back at Harry. “Are you okay?” He murmurs, shifting to rest a hand on his knee.</p>
<p>Harry swallows. “Louis,” he whispers, reaching for the hand that’s on his knee, picking it up to cradle it between his own. Louis feels sinew and skin, feels muscle rippling underneath his palm, but it doesn’t register until Harry uses that leverage to pull him closer, cradling Louis’ head to his chest.</p>
<p>Louis isn’t sure what’s going on, but Harry’s adamant, keeping him there, and so he stills, allowing the cuddle that Harry seems to need. </p>
<p>And then he hears it. Faint, at first. </p>
<p>
  <em>Thump.</em>
</p>
<p>Louis gasps, pulls away to look at Harry with dazed eyes, but only for a moment, before he places his head back against Harry’s chest, ear resting eagerly over his heart.</p>
<p><em>Thump</em>. </p>
<p>It comes from deep within, tentative, unsure at first. Like it’s still searching out a rhythm, still getting used to being able to expand and distribute blood through the body.</p>
<p>
  <em>Thump. Thump. </em>
</p>
<p>Louis pulls back, wide eyed, shifts to sit on his knees, his hands shaking as he cradles Harry’s face.“Your-” he starts, his voice cracking, and Harry nods, quick and jerky and with tears of his own in his eyes. “Harry- that’s, it’s, I can hear your heart-”</p>
<p>“Beating.” Harry whispers, his own voice just as rough as Louis’. “I know. It woke me up. There was this pressure, in my chest, and it burned, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe and then - I felt like I <em>really </em>breathed. For the first time. I felt like, oxygen, getting into my lungs. I felt blood rushing through my ears and then - it almost hurt. But then it settled, and I freaked out because I didn’t know if that was normal, but then I remember that movie we watched and how you could feel your heartbeat in your neck or on your wrist and I- I have a heart, Louis.”</p>
<p>Louis brushes tears from Harry’s eyes, letting his own fall freely. “You have a heart,” he whispers tenderly, voice betraying his awe. His fingertips are trembling as he rests them against Harry’s neck, searching out his pulse point there, because he thinks he might need the reassurance that Harry’s heart still beats even when he can’t hear it. It’s there, underneath his fingertips, warm and real and <em>alive</em>.</p>
<p>“You’re human.” He’s not sure why he sounds so shocked except that it’s not fully sinking in yet, tendrils of sleep still hooked in his brain, paired with the overwhelming feeling of - </p>
<p>It’s much the same as before. As when Harry had first come to life. This seeing, knowing that it meant believing, even when it defied every law, even when it didn’t make sense. </p>
<p>He’s never been so glad to be proven wrong, before. </p>
<p>“I’m human.” Harry echoes, and there’s bewilderment in his own voice too. It’s there in his eyes, as well, the awe and the worry. Louis knows what he’s thinking before he says it. “Do you think it’ll last?”</p>
<p>He brushes his fingers through his hair, feeling how soft it is between his fingers now. It’d been getting softer more and more lately, but he can feel the difference now when he wouldn’t have been able to point it out before. His hands slide down his arms, feeling the loose skin at his elbow, the softness of his underarms. He brings his wrist to his mouth and feels the pulse, ever so faintly, underneath his lips. “Yeah,” he says, his voice cracking a little bit, and he has to close his eyes to keep the tears from splashing onto Harry’s skin. “Yeah love, I think it’ll last.” He glances up once he feels like he’s not in danger of sobbing, though he knows he’s still teary eyed. “You’re <em>human</em>.” He repeats, still can’t manage to shake the awe from his voice. “Your heart is beating. You’re able to bleed. You’re going to need to eat-” he stops himself, watches as Harry’s eyes light up.</p>
<p>“The cupc-” Harry starts, but Louis is already off the bed.</p>
<p>“Be right back,” he calls, nearly slipping on his socks on the floor when he makes a mad dash to the kitchen, something exhilarated in his lungs that makes him twitch as he stands in front of the counter, picking out the most perfect cupcake from the ones Harry had so painstakingly frosted.</p>
<p>There’s a memory pushing at the corner of his brain, but he doesn’t have time for it, just walks back as quickly as he can without risking the cupcake.</p>
<p>Harry’s still sitting in his bed, but he’s arranged the blankets around himself now, and Louis tries not to take notice of how his nipples have pebbled just slightly. “I’m cold,” Harry whispers, and he doesn’t sound upset about it, just sounds a little awed still. “Like, not just from the inside, but, why is your bedroom so cold, Lou?”</p>
<p>Louis chuckles, crawling back onto the bed and tucking himself under the blankets, resisting the urge to pull them up to his nose and just sitting next to Harry instead. “I don’t like when the heating’s on in the bedroom. Makes my head all fuzzy. I tend to wake up with headaches.” He gives Harry a considering look. “You’re probably going to wake up with headaches sometimes too.”</p>
<p>“Is it weird that I’m excited about that?” Harry asks, eyeing the cupcake that’s still in Louis’ hand. Louis caves and hands it to him, watches him as he peels back the wrapper almost reverently.</p>
<p>“Yes. You’re a weirdo.” Louis deadpans, then chuckles, so overcome with fondness that he presses a kiss to Harry’s bare shoulder. “No, I think all things considered, that makes sense.”</p>
<p>Harry bites down on his lip, glances at where Louis’ lips have just left his skin. “That feels different too,” he says quietly, and Louis isn’t sure if he should apologize or accept possible thanks. He stays quiet, as Harry’s face goes through all these different expressions. Has an errant thought of how he’d beat him at poker, because everything’s so clearly visible on his face. “I like it.” Harry eventually decides, and when he smiles it’s so very easy for Louis to smile back.</p>
<p>“Try your cupcake,” he encourages softly. “I think you’ll like that too.” He’d tried them earlier, and they’d been divine, but he knows that there’s nothing that will compare to the very first taste of food. Getting to try an almost perfect cupcake was pretty much the dream.</p>
<p>Harry swipes his finger through the frosting, popping it into his mouth, and with that, the memory that had been pushing at the corner of his brain comes flooding in, making him stare at him hard enough that Harry frowns, taking his finger back out of his mouth. “What?”</p>
<p>“You ate, before.” Louis states, a little flat because he wonders if he’s remembering it wrong, but no, he doesn’t think that he is. “The last time we made cupcakes. When we had that food fight. You tasted the icing.” He doesn’t think he’d noticed at the time, or at least, it hadn’t registered the way it does now. </p>
<p>“Huh.” Harry says, bringing his finger back to his mouth, tasting the icing. “You’re right.” He closes his eyes for a moment, corners of his mouth tugging up into the hint of a smile. “Didn’t taste like this though. I’d have remembered.” </p>
<p>Louis resists the urge to press another kiss to Harry’s skin, not wanting to distract him from the next thing he gets to discover, even when part of him - the part that’s crazy in love with Harry and that wants to be pressed against his side at all times - wants to be adamant that he can make Harry discover a lot of other things that might be just as wonderful as tasting a cupcake for the first time. “It doesn’t matter, anyway,” he says softly. “It doesn’t matter how that was possible, and how you’re been getting more and more human even before today. All that matters is that you got here.”</p>
<p>Harry tears off a piece of the cupcake, popping it into his mouth and giving Louis the happiest, sweetest smile he’s possibly ever seen. “Not got,” he corrects softly, and Louis thinks he might be more in love with him than even a minute before. “You brought me here.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>The next morning, Harry takes a shower for the first time. </p>
<p>Louis resists the urge to hover, because there really is no danger to showering, now that his skin is actual skin, but there’s also the inane worry that if Harry slips and hits his head he might do actual damage this time, not just chip his skin, so all in all he truly has to fight the desire to sit on the toilet and stay with Harry. </p>
<p>Instead he cooks them breakfast, dressed in a tee and some boxers, with soft fuzzy slippers on his feet, and it doesn’t escape his notice just how domestic this all is even before Harry shuffles into the kitchen and wraps his arms around him from behind. “Morning,” he murmurs into Louis’ ear, and Louis thinks he might melt. </p>
<p>Harry feels warm from the shower, skin rosy, slightly wrinkled at the fingertips that stroke over Louis’ arm. “My hair’s wet,” he informs Louis, and there’s so much delight in his voice that Louis has to suppress a smile. “I’m pretty sure there’s water in my ass crack, also.”</p>
<p>He says it so casually, but Louis can’t help but snort, putting down the spatula on the counter before turning around in Harry’s arms. “I take back what I said last night,” he murmurs, arms coming up around his shoulders, to toy with the damp hair at the back of Harry’s neck. “You’re definitely a weirdo.”</p>
<p>Harry chuckles. “I’m just saying. It’s weird, experiencing all these things. My fingers looked like an old man’s, and it’s the oddest sensation. I got lightheaded in the shower, when I turned up the heat too much. My skin got all red!” </p>
<p>Louis rolls his eyes at him, swallowing when Harry rests his hand on the small of his back, bringing them closer together. His treacherous body wants to press closer still, but he is content with staying in the moment, with simply being by his side when Harry is exploring what it is like to be human. “Breakfast’s gonna burn,” he whispers, and Harry nods but doesn’t let him go, just looks at him with those deep green eyes, making Louis feel all warm and gooey inside. </p>
<p>“‘kay,” Harry finally mutters, his fingers splaying out on Louis’ back before he slips them to his waist, gives his side a little squeeze. “I’ll go get dressed.”</p>
<p>Louis snorts. “Yeah.” He teases. “That’s probably smart. I don’t know how much Liam and Zayn are gonna love us when you show up in just your pants, even if we bring them cupcakes.”</p>
<p>Harry throws him a grin over his shoulder. “That’s okay. Only need you to love me.” </p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>Their life doesn’t change as much as Louis might have expected. Over the next few weeks, they settle back into their rhythm; Louis works on his sculpture, they watch movies, cook together. The only difference is that now, when they spend their afternoons together, they aren’t automatically confined to their home. </p>
<p>It doesn’t stop Louis from freaking out, the first time that Harry goes out alone. They’d been out together a few times, even went to the cinema with Liam and Zayn to watch a Marvel movie once. Both of them had kept just as close an eye on Harry as Louis was prone to do, and both of them had been equally misty eyed at seeing Harry take to society the way a duck takes to water. </p>
<p>But it’s different, when one day Harry pops his head round the door of his studio and casually informs him that he’s going out for a walk. </p>
<p>Louis nearly messes up his sculpture when he announces it, and for a moment he wonders if Harry did this on purpose, if he’s still planning to ruin his possible rival, but Harry’s smiling and looking perfectly innocent, and Louis can only blame himself for his trembling hands. </p>
<p>“Where are you going?” He asks, and Harry shrugs a shoulder.</p>
<p>“Don’t know. Just feel like going out.” He’s already bundled up, and realistically, even if he were still a statue, with the hat and the scarf there’s barely anything visible. There’d be no reason to worry then, let alone now, but Louis still can’t help the absolute fear clawing up his spine. “Weather’s nice, I don’t want to be cooped up inside.”</p>
<p>Louis can’t stop him, even when a small part of him wants to. “If you give me a minute, I can come with,” he tries, and Harry arches an eyebrow, settling his back against the doorframe. </p>
<p>“Lou,” he draws out his name like he’s trying to figure out the best way to approach the conversation, and Louis finds himself tensing subconsciously, even when he knows that Harry still never means to hurt him. “I’ll be fine.”</p>
<p>“I know.” Louis still puts down his chisel, brushes away marble dust from his hands. “I know, but-”</p>
<p>“I’m human now, remember?” It’s not like Louis has been able to forget, not when his favorite pastime is still getting to rest his head on Harry’s chest and listen to his heartbeat; and Harry’s yet to relocate from his bed to his own, which could be weird considering they’ve not actually put a label on what they are, but as long as they both don’t mention it, it doesn’t have to be a thing. </p>
<p>“I <em>know</em>.” Louis sighs, resisting the urge to drag a hand through his hair, knowing that it’ll just mean he has to shower later. “I’m not - just take your phone, please? So you can at least call me if something’s going on. Just because you’re human doesn’t mean that you’re safe, Harry. There’s still bad people out there.”</p>
<p>Harry rolls his eyes at him, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. “Alright <em>mum</em>,” he teases. “God, you’re worse than Zayn. I texted him this morning, asked him if he wanted to meet up for coffee somewhere tomorrow, and he about had an aneurysm.” He grins. “He said yes though. Eventually.”</p>
<p>Louis swallows. “Good.” He crosses the distance between them, rests a gentle hand on Harry’s bicep. “Have fun, love.” He leans in and up, presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek. “You’re right, of course. As always. You’ll be fine. I know you will be.”</p>
<p>Harry frowns at that, something gentle and delicate. “It’s alright to worry too you know.” He admits, returning the soft kiss to his cheek with one of his own. “I know that it doesn’t mean that you don’t trust me. I know that you’re just trying to keep me safe.” He gives him a gentle smile. “It’ll get easier.”</p>
<p>Louis nods. “Have fun,” he repeats, swallowing back another idle warning that he wants to give. Harry’s right, it’ll be okay. He knows it will be, and he knows that even if it’s not, he can’t keep him from experiencing those things. He doesn’t want to be the overbearing friend, let alone become the overbearing, possessive partner, even if it’s just out of a desire to keep him from getting hurt. Harry’s human now, and that means letting him make his own decisions and mistakes. “Let me know if you’re going to be back by lunch, I can make us something.”</p>
<p>Harry smiles, nods. “I’ll let you know.”</p>
<p>He leaves, and Louis tries to keep working, tries to steady his hands and not let his thoughts wander, but it’s hard, his heart still beating violently in his throat at the thought of Harry out there on his own, when he can’t protect him.</p>
<p>Of course, nothing happens. Harry doesn’t call, and when he returns, his voice calling out “Lou?” he doesn’t sound as though anything out of the ordinary has happened. Instead he sounds happy and slightly out of breath, and when he finds Louis in the living room, his cheeks are bright from the winter air. “Hi!” he calls, and Louis stops attempting to pet Bethany, lets her hop off the couch and make her way over to Harry, who immediately bends down to pet her. “Hi fluff,” he croons, and Louis feels his heart doing this odd squeeze.</p>
<p>“Have fun?” he asks, and Harry glances up, picks up Bethany with one hand, the other handing a bag over to Louis. “What’s this?”</p>
<p>“I brought lunch. I went by this cute bakery, and it just smelled so amazing inside, so I headed in and ordered us some food.” He looks so proud, to have done this, to have made his very own first purchase, with the money that Louis had left on the hallway cabinet. He never wants Harry to feel like he needs to ask for things, so he’d made sure that there was always cash there, in case he wanted to buy something. Or, in this case, surprise him with something. </p>
<p>Louis opens the bag, inhaling the scents there. “Fuck, this smells amazing.” </p>
<p>Harry nods happily. “They were so nice too.” He settles down next to Louis, Bethany in his lap. “Though I’m pretty sure one of the guys there was hitting on me.”</p>
<p>Louis pauses with a cherry pastry halfway to his mouth. He gives it a reproachful look, tempted to shove it back in the bag and throw the whole thing in the bin. “Did he?” He tries to keep his voice level, but one glance at Harry and he can tell that he’s failed miserably. “Where did you say the bakery was again?”</p>
<p>“Didn’t.” Harry informs him happily, and fuck, he’s enjoying this, the little shit. </p>
<p>“That’s too bad. I would’ve loved to go over and have a little talk about how it’s very impolite to hit on people that are taken.” Louis mutters, expecting Harry to chuckle. </p>
<p>He doesn’t. He just looks at him, with a carefully neutral expression. “Am I?” He asks, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Taken? Am I still yours?”</p>
<p>Louis lowers his pastry, placing it on the coffee table in favor of turning towards Harry, his hand already reaching out towards him, steadying itself on his knee. “Yeah?” He asks, not waiting for the frown to climb Harry’s face. “Yeah. You are. I mean. As long as you want to be.”</p>
<p>Harry’s skin has acclimated to the temperature inside of Louis’ apartment, so Louis is fairly sure that the pink tinge to his cheeks is because he’s blushing now. That, paired with the way he glances down and then up, makes his heart skip a beat. “I do want to be,” Harry murmurs. “I just - it’s been weeks, since you said that you loved me, and I know that you were planning on taking things slow, but, I think a tortoise could beat the pace that we’re going at, right now.”</p>
<p>That’s fair, Louis has to acknowledge. “I just wanted to give you time to adjust,” he says softly. “I - my feelings haven’t changed. They won’t change. I’m just - I can wait. If that’s what you need.”</p>
<p>“I don’t think that it is.” Harry is definitely blushing now, looking up at him through his eyelashes. “I think, if it’s okay, I’d like to be done waiting? I know that things are still new, that there’s still a world to discover out there, but, when it’s just us, inside here, I don’t need to know what the world has to offer to know that what I want is right here in front of me.” He rests his hand on top of Louis’. “I know you’re scared, that I’ll change my mind, once I’ve met more people, or that I’ll fall out of love with you somehow. And you’re right, I can’t promise that I never will. But the thing is, Lou, neither can you. And - I don’t think it matters? We can’t wait until we’re sure that this is forever, because we’ll only know that after our life is over. And if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather be happy now. I - will you take me out? Tonight? On a date?”</p>
<p>Louis feels his heart skip another beat. “Yeah.” He whispers, swallows. “Yeah, I’d love to.”</p>
<p>➳➳➳</p>
<p>They go bowling. </p>
<p>Harry is terrible at it. </p>
<p>Louis is slightly less terrible, but not nearly good enough to teach him anything, but it doesn’t matter, because Harry lets out these booming laughs, and everyone’s looking at him and for once it doesn’t worry Louis.</p>
<p>They go out to a diner afterwards, for a late dinner. Louis gets fries and a burger, and Harry gets the most outlandish thing on the menu, which he ends up hating. He keeps picking food off of Louis’ plate, and Louis lets him, because that’s what love is. </p>
<p>Harry also gets a milkshake, something chocolatey and gooey and perfect, and his face lights up when he drinks it, and Louis wants to warn him but he’s also sort of trying to get back at him for earlier today, riling him up about the cute bakery guy that had hit on him and given him his number, so he bites his lip and watches as Harry’s face falls and he reaches for his head.</p>
<p>“Ow.” He complains, looking worried for a moment, until he catches Louis trying to suppress a laugh. “Ow, what the hell.” He lightly kicks out at Louis’ ankle, and Louis feels another laugh bubbling up his throat, releases it this time. “Louis!” He laughs too, even as he presses a hand to his forehead, making a pained face.</p>
<p>“Brainfreeze,” Louis explains. “It happens when you drink something cold too fast.” He rubs Harry’s shoulder. “Try pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth.” </p>
<p>Harry does it, but he’s still looking at him with those sweet eyes, and Louis feels so in love that it almost makes him tongue tied. </p>
<p>“I could kiss it better.” He offers innocently, and it’s not until Harry immediately stops looking as though he’s in the most pain of his life that he catches on. “Wait, were you faking this? Were you baiting me?”</p>
<p>Harry grins. “Maybe.” He says innocently. “But I’ll take the kiss, if the offer still stands.”</p>
<p>Louis snorts. Rolls his eyes. “Well I’m not sure now,” he teases. “False pretenses and all. Consent’s important you know. We should both know what we’re getting into-” </p>
<p>“Louis.” Harry sighs. Louis can’t help but smirk, butterflies in full force in his stomach.</p>
<p>“Harry.” He deadpans, swallowing a laugh at the look of adoring frustration on Harry’s face. </p>
<p>“Louis,” he says again, a little bit of a whine to his voice. “Just - I’m going to kiss you now. Okay?” </p>
<p>He waits, as Louis had known he would. Waits for his permission, for the feeble nod that Louis manages, the smile on Harry’s face mirrored on his own. </p>
<p>And then Harry finally reaches out for him, fingers tangling in the soft hair at the back of his neck, and Louis melts, into the touch, into the moment, into <em>forever</em>.</p>
<p>--fin--</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sometime in the next year, Louis sends off his sculpture. He thanks his client for her patience, and she in turn thanks him for giving her exactly what she wants. She tells him how it’s so clear that this is a labor of love, that this is his perfect man, and Louis is happy to take her praise and her compliments, and thinks of the boy tucked away on the couch at home. </p><p>Of <em>his</em> boy, tucked away on the couch at home. </p><p>They don’t rush into anything, content to live in the in between, to see where life takes them.</p><p>As it turns out, it takes them all over the world. First to Doncaster, to his mum, who he confides the truth to after one too many proseccos at lunch. She seems surprised but welcomes Harry with open arms, and wrapped up in his mum’s arms Louis has a brief moment where he worries that Harry might miss out on the feeling of having parents.</p><p>But soon enough his parents become Harry’s parents. His friends become Harry’s friends.</p><p>They travel to see Niall, who doesn’t say much but who looks delighted at meeting Harry, at seeing that they’ve figured it out. </p><p>They travel to meet up with Shawn, relay a message from Niall, a tentative invitation to come and visit sometime. Shawn doesn’t say it, but it’s clear that he’s been waiting for this, that if he could he’d head over immediately, never mind the visitors in his house.</p><p>While they’re in Paris, they also venture out to hang the padlock onto one of the many bridges. They take too many pictures, and every time Louis swipes to open up his phone he sees the little L &amp; H that Harry had scribbled onto the padlock, something that now declares their love to everyone who passes by.</p><p>They travel to Greece, where they don’t find the Oracle because Louis is no longer on a journey, but they do see the sights that Harry had marveled over, the things that keep his eyes glued to the TV no matter how much Louis bugs him for attention. </p><p>They go to Hawaii too, on a sort of pre-honeymoon kind of thing with Liam and Zayn. They spend two weeks in paradise, but Louis thinks they could be anywhere in the world and he’d still be happy as long as he’s got Harry by his side.</p><p>➳➳➳</p><p>Harry adapts wonderfully to being human. His penchant for baking, instilled in him long ago when he was just a thought in Louis’ head, turns out to be his passion, and he finds a job at a nearby bakery, working himself up from manning the till to helping out the baker whenever she needs a hand. The first time he brings home a pastry that he’s made in the bakery - one that the head baker told him was excellent - they both cry a little bit. </p><p>He still likes to spend his time in Louis’ studio when he works. They’ve adapted the tiny space that Harry had briefly called home; taken away the bed but leaving the shelves, adding a comfortable chair where Harry sits as Louis sculpts, reading to him because even now that they’re no longer looking for answers it’s something that they love to do together. </p><p>Louis’ muse has never been more active. He’s never been more productive, and he makes more money than he’s done since graduation. Even factoring in the extra expenses that come with living with someone and the amount of time he spends doing other things than working (for once maintaining a healthy work-life balance), he’s more comfortable than he’s ever been, financially. </p><p>So they adopt a dog. Some curly big thing that reminds Louis of Harry because it’s just as clumsy, tripping over its own two feet in its excitement to meet new people. Bethany is less than amused at first, but after a few semi vicious nips to Clifford’s paw he learns to settle down around her, and she learns to tolerate him, even though she much prefers the human equivalent to the canine version of Harry. </p><p>It’s never quiet anymore, in his flat. There’s always music on, Harry singing along, Clifford’s nails clicking on the hardwood floor. There’s always food, and cuddles from his best boy or the two pets that they’ve adopted, even though Bethany always remains Harry’s pet more than she becomes Louis’. </p><p>He’s happy.</p><p>➳➳➳</p><p>“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today-”</p><p>Louis tunes out the minister, in favor of looking at Harry. At those green eyes he loves so much. At the slightly weepy expression in them, and the way he can’t help but look at Louis too, instead of paying attention to what’s happening in front of them.</p><p>He reaches out for his hand, and Louis takes it gladly, cradles it between his own in his lap, fingertips drawing little spiderweb figures into Harry’s palm. </p><p><em>This will be us one day</em>, he thinks, and the thought fills him with warmth as he looks back at the minister, at the two men standing there, grinning at each other in a way that feels almost too private. He thinks back on their engagement party, a lifetime ago, when he was sat in a pub, drinking lukewarm beer, avoiding sleazy Brad and generally bemoaning the lack of love in his life. </p><p>Life had more than come through in that regard.</p><p>He absently circles his fingertip around Harry’s ring finger, imagines a ring there, the ring that he’s had hidden in his jacket pocket all morning, because Zayn and Liam were two of the best people in the world and they had encouraged him to do it today, even if Louis had protested at first, thought that it might be tacky or take the attention off of them.</p><p><em>“Please,”</em> Zayn had said. <em>“If we could get married without all the attention, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”</em> And Louis knows that it’s true, that if Zayn wouldn’t risk getting murdered by his mum for eloping, he’d have gone without the whole fancy celebration. </p><p>And in a way it’s almost poetic. To get engaged at their wedding, when his whole story had started at their engagement. </p><p>He’s not nervous. He knows that maybe he should be, possibly he will be, once the moment comes. Once Zayn doesn’t toss the bouquet - a right usually reserved for brides but that Zayn had incorporated just for this occasion - but hands it over to Harry instead, as though he’s officially handing over all responsibility for Louis in that moment. But he can’t be nervous when he knows that Harry will say yes. </p><p>He knows it like he knows that the sky is blue. </p><p>The sky is blue. Louis is in love with Harry. Today, he’s going to ask him to marry him, and Harry is going to say yes.</p><p>Today will be the first day of the rest of their lives, a continuation of the journey they started so long ago. A journey that hadn’t been easy, but that had been so worth it. A journey that might get difficult again, in the future, but no matter what, Louis knows that with this boy by his side, he’s strong enough to face anything.</p><p>Harry squeezes his hand, catching his eye, and Louis smiles at him, finds an answering smile already on Harry’s face. It’s soft and sweet and open, and Louis’ heart is positively aching with how much he loves him, like it’s impossible to contain it all inside of him. He brings his hand to his lips, skims his lips over Harry’s knuckles, the skin slightly rough in places which only serves to drive home how human he is. </p><p>“I love you,” he murmurs, and even a year and a half in, Harry’s eyes still light up at that. </p><p>“I love you too,” he whispers, and Louis knows that it’s true. That it’s real and that it’s Harry’s choice, that he chooses to stay with him, every day of his life. Even when they argue, even when they stumble and make mistakes, they choose to fight for this once in a lifetime love, because both of them can’t imagine their life with anyone else. </p><p>Louis had created his perfect man, once upon a time. His perfect man had subsequently come to life, taking the both of them on a journey. And during that journey, Louis had created what is maybe his best accomplishment to date, something he might never surpass. </p><p>He’s created a better version of himself. </p><p>A version that’s strong, and open, and loving. A version that’s unafraid, that shares his burdens with the man he’s elected to share his world with. </p><p>The ring almost burns a hole in his jacket pocket. </p><p>Louis can’t wait to see what life has in store for them. He’s not sure where they’ll be a year from now. Whether they’ll have moved out of their now too small apartment and into an actual house. Whether they’ll be stressed out, planning their wedding, arguing over seating charts and flower arrangements. </p><p>He’s even less sure where they’ll be five years from now. He likes to think that maybe they’ll have kids. Two of them, a girl and a boy. Maybe one of them will be adopted as a baby, but he’s open to adopting older kids too. He thinks him and Harry both have enough love in their heart to add to their family, to open up their home to someone in need. </p><p>But no matter where they are, in a year, in five years, in a couple of decades, Louis knows one thing, with perfect certainty.</p><p>They’ll be together.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you all for coming on this journey with me and choosing to read this fic. I would love it if you left kudos or even a comment. Share your favorite part with me, tell me what you liked about this fic, or a line that stayed with you! Anything is appreciated!</p><p>If you like, you can also reblog the fic post on my Tumblr <a href="https://so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed.tumblr.com/post/648259886379073536/larry-126k-t-fantasy-mythology">here</a></p><p>Don't forget to read the many other wonderful works in this collection!</p>
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